UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
LOS  ANGELES 


THE  OLD  MAJOR. 


Sombre  Rivals. 


Page  47. 


TOorfce  of  J6»  BX  IRoe 


VOLUME    THIRTEEN 


HIS    SOMBRE    RIVALS 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW  YORK 
P.    P.    COLLIER   &    SON 


COPYRIGHT,  1883, 
BY  DODD,  MEAD,  &  COMPANY. 


PREFACE 


THE  following  stoTy  has  been  taking  form  in  my  mind  for 
several  years,  and  at  last  I  have  been  able  to  write  it  out. 
With  a  regret  akin  to  sadness,  I  take  my  leave,  this  August 
day,  of  people  who  have  become  very  real  to  me,  whose  joys 
and  sorrows  I  have  made  my  own.  Although  a  Northern 
man,  I  think  my  Southern  readers  will  feel  that  I  have  sought 
to  do  justice  to  their  motives.  At  this  distance  from  the  late 
Civil  War,  it  is  time  that  passion  and  prejudice  sank  below 
the  horizon,  and  among  the  surviving  soldiers  who  were  ar 
rayed  against  each  other  I  think  they  have  practically  disap 
peared.  Stern  and  prolonged  conflict  taught  mutual  respect. 
The  men  of  the  Northern  armies  were  convinced,  beyond  the 
shadow  of  a  doubt,  that  they  had  fought  men  and  Americans 
— men  whose  patriotism  and  devotion  to  a  cause  sacred  to 
them  was  as  pure  and  lofty  as  their  own.  It  is  time  that  sane 
men  and  women  should  be  large-minded  enough  to  recognize 
that,  whatever  may  have  been  the  original  motives  of  politi 
cal  leaders,  the  people  on  both  sides  were  sincere  and  honest ; 
that  around  the  camp-fires  at  their  hearths  and  in  their  places 
of  worship  they  looked  for  God's  blessing  on  their  efforts 
with  equal  freedom  from  hypocrisy. 

I  have  endeavored  to  portray  the  battle  of  Bull  Run  as 
it  could  appear  to  a  civilian  spectator:  to  give  a  suggestive 

(«) 

386886 


4  PREFACE 

picture  and  not  a  general  description.  The  following  war- 
scenes  are  imaginary,  and  colored  by  personal  reminiscence. 
I  was  in  the  service  nearly  four  years,  two  of  which  were 
spent  with  the  cavalry.  Nevertheless,  justly  distrustful  of 
my  knowledge  of  military  affairs,  I  have  submitted  my  proofs 
to  my  friend  Colonel  H.  C.  Hasbrouck,  Commandant  of  Ca 
dets  at  West  Point,  and  therefore  have  confidence  that  as 
mere  sketches  of  battles  and  skirmishes  they  are  not  techni 
cally  defective. 

The  title  of  the  story  will  naturally  lead  the  reader  to  ex 
pect  that  deep  shadows  rest  upon  many  of  its  pages.  I  know 
it  is  scarcely  the  fashion  of  the  present  time  to  portray  men 
and  women  who  feel  very  deeply  about  anything,  but  there 
certainly  was  deep  feeling  at  the  time  of  which  I  write,  as,  in 
truth,  there  is  to-day.  The  heart  of  humanity  is  like  the 
ocean.  There  are  depths  to  be  stirred  when  the  causes  are 
adequate.  E.  P.  K. 

CORNWALL-ON-THE-HtTDSON, 

August  21,  1883. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER    I 
AN  EMBODIMENT  OF  MAY 13 

CHAPTER    n 
MERE  FANCIES 21 

CHAPTER    in 
THE  VERDICT  OF  A  SAGE 30 

CHAPTER    IV 
WARNING  OR  INCENTIVE 33 

CHAPTER   V 
IMPRESSIONS 38 

CHAPTER    VI 
PHILOSOPHY  AT  FAULT 46 

CHAPTER  VII 
WARREN  HILLAND 63 

CHAPTER  VIII 
SUPREME  MOMENTS 59 

CHAPTER   IX 
THE  REVELATION 70 


6  CONTENTS 

CHAPTEE   X 
THE  KINSHIP  OF  SUFFERING  .........    78 

CHAPTEE  XI 
THE  ORDEAL  ...............    84 

CHAPTEE  XII 
FLIGHT  TO  NATURE    ............     94 

CHAPTEE  XIII 
THE  FRIENDS     ..............  103 

CHAPTEE   XIV 
NOBLE  DECEPTION  .............  113 

CHAPTEE   XV 

"I   WISH   HE   HAD   KNOWN"  ........      .'     -.    123 


CHAPTEE 
THE  CLOUD  IN  THE  SOUTH      .........  131 

CHAPTEE  XYII 
PREPARATION     ..............  141 

CHAPTEE  XVIII 
THE  CALL  TO  ARMS   .....     .     ......  150 

CHAPTEE  XIX 
THE  BLOOD-EED  SKY     ...........  155 

CHAPTEE  XX 
Two  BATTLES     ..............  161 

CHAPTEE  XXI 
THE  LOGIC  OF  EVENTS   .........    .    .  175 

CHAPTEE  XXII 

SELF-SENTENCED  .  192 


CONTENTS  7 

CHAPTER  XXIII 
AN  EARLY  DREAM  FULFILLED 198 

CHAPTER  XXIV 
UNCHRONICLED  CONFLICTS 209 

CHAPTER  XXV 
A  PRESENTIMENT 216 

CHAPTER  XXVI 
AN  IMPROVISED  PICTURE  G-ALLERY 


CHAPTER  XXVII 
A  DREAM  . 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 
ITS  FULFILMENT 244 

CHAPTER  XXIX 
A  SOUTHERN  GIRL 253 

CHAPTER   XXX 
GUERILLAS 265 

CHAPTER  XXXI 
JUST  IN  TIME 273 

CHAPTER  XXXII 
A  WOUNDED  SPIRIT 281 

CHAPTER  XXXIII 
THE  WHITE-HAIRED  NURSE 286 

CHAPTER  XXXIV 
RITA'S  BROTHER 297 

CHAPTER  XXXV 
His  SOMBRE  RIVALS .  305 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XXXVI 
ALL  MATERIALISTS 311 

CHAPTER  XXXVII 
THE  EFFORT  TO  LIVE 319 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII 
GRAHAM'S  LAST  SACRIFICE      .........  332 

CHAPTER  XX  XIX 
MARRIED  UNCONSCIOUSLY  . 342 

CHAPTER  XL 
RITA  ANDERSON 359 

CHAPTER  XLI 
A  LITTLE  CHILD  SHALL  LEAD  THEM 368 


HIS    SOMBRE    RIVALS 


HIS   SOMBRE    RIVALS 


CHAPTER    I 

AN   EMBODIMENT    OF    MAY 

EYOND  that  revolving  light  lies  my  home.  And 
yet  why  should  I  use  such  a  term  when  the  best  I 
can  say  is  that  a  continent  is  my  home?  Home 
suggests  a  loved  familiar  nook  in  the  great  world.  There  is 
no  such  niche  for  me,  nor  can  I  recall  any  place  around 
which  my  memory  lingers  with  especial  pleasure." 

In  a  gloomy  and  somewhat  bitter  mood,  Alford  Graham 
thus  soliloquized  as  he  paced  the  deck  of  an  in-coming 
steamer.  In  explanation  it  may  be  briefly  said  that  he  had 
been  orphaned  early  in  life,  and  that  the  residences  of  his 
guardians  had  never  been  made  homelike  to  him.  While 
scarcely  more  than  a  child  he  had  been  placed  at  boarding- 
schools  where  the  system  and  routine  made  the  youth's  life 
little  better  than  that  of  a  soldier  in  his  barrack.  Many  boys 
would  have  grown  hardy,  aggressive,  callous,  and  very  possi 
bly  vicious  from  being  thrown  out  on  the  world  so  early. 
Young  Graham  became  reticent  and  to  superficial  observers 
shy.  Those  who  cared  to  observe  him  closely,  however,  dis 
covered  that  it  was  not  diffidence,  but  indifference  toward  oth 
ers  that  characterized  his  manner.  In  the  most  impressible 
period  of  his  life  he  had  received  instruction,  advice  and  dis 
cipline  in  abundance,  but  love  and  sympathy  had  been  denied. 
Unconsciously  his  heart  had  become  chilled,  benumbed  and 
overshadowed  by  his  intellect.  The  actual  world  gave  him 
little  and  seemed  to  promise  less,  and,  as  a  result  not  at  all  un- 

(13) 


HIS    SOMBRE    RIVALS 

natural,  he  became  something  of  a  recluse  and  bookworm 
even  before  he  had  left  behind  him  the  years  of  boyhood. 

Both  comrades  and  teachers  eventually  learned  that  the 
retiring  and  solitary  youth  was  not  to  be  trifled  with.  He 
looked  his  instructor  steadily  in  the  eye  when  he  recited,  and 
while  his  manner  was  respectful,  it  was  never  deferential, 
nor  could  he  be  induced  to  yield  a  point,  when  believing  him 
self  in  the  right,  to  mere  arbitrary  assertion :  and  sometimes 
he  brought  confusion  to  his  teacher  by  quoting  in  support  of 
his  own  view  some  unimpeachable  authority. 

At  the  beginning  of  each  school  term  there  were  usually 
rough  fellows  who  thought  the  quiet  boy  could  be  made  the 
subject  of  practical  jokes  and  petty  annoyances  without  much 
danger  of  retaliation.  Graham  would  usually  remain  patient 
up  to  a  certain  point,  and  then,  in  dismay  and  astonishment, 
the  offender  would  suddenly  find  himself  receiving  a  punish 
ment  which  he  seemed  powerless  to  resist.  Blows  would  fall 
like  hail,  or  if  the  combatants  closed  in  the  struggle,  the 
aggressor  appeared  to  find  in  Graham's  slight  form  sinew  and 
fury  only.  It  seemed  as  if  the  lad's  spirit  broke  forth  in  such 
a  flame  of  indignation  that  no  one  could  withstand  him.  It 
was  also  remembered  that  while  he  was  not  noted  for  prowess 
on  the  playground,  few  could  surpass  him  in  the  gymnasium, 
and  that  he  took  long  solitary  rambles.  Such  of  his  class 
mates,  therefore,  as  were  inclined  to  quarrel  with  him  be 
cause  of  his  unpopular  ways  soon  learned  that  he  kept  up  his 
muscle  with  the  best  of  them,  and  that,  when  at  last  roused, 
his  anger  struck  like  lightning  from  a  cloud. 

During  the  latter  part  of  his  college  course  he  gradually 
formed  a  strong  friendship  for  a  young  man  of  a  different 
type,  an  ardent  sunny-natured  youth,  who  proved  an  antidote 
to  his  morbid  tendencies.  They  went  abroad  together  and 
studied  for  two  years  at  a  German  university,  and  then  War 
ren  Hilland,  Graham's  friend,  having  inherited  large  wealth, 
returned  to  his  home.  Graham,  left  to  himself,  delved  more 
and  more  deeply  in  certain  phases  of  sceptical  philosophy. 
It  appeared  to  him  that  in  the  past  men  had  believed  almost 


AN  EMBODIMENT  OF  MAY  15 

everything,  and  that  the  heavier  the  drafts  made  on  credulity 
the  more  largely  had  they  been  honored.  The  two  friends 
had  long  since  resolved  that  the  actual  and  the  proved  should 
be  the  base  from  which  they  would  advance  into  the  un 
known,  and  they  discarded  with  equal  indifference  unsubstan 
tiated  theories  of  science  and  what  they  were  pleased  to  term 
the  illusions  of  faith.  "From  the  verge  of  the  known  explore 
the  unknown,"  was  their  motto,  and  it  had  been  their  hope  to 
spend  their  lives  in  extending  the  outposts  of  accurate  knowl 
edge,  in  some  one  or  two  directions,  a  little  beyond  the  points 
already  reached.  Since  the  scalpel  and  microscope  revealed 
no  soul  in  the  human  mechanism  they  regarded  all  theories 
and  beliefs  concerning  a  separate  spiritual  existence  as  mere 
assumption.  They  accepted  the  materialistic  view.  To 
them  each  generation  was  a  link  in  an  endless  chain,  and  man 
himself  wholly  the  product  of  an  evolution  which  had  no  re 
lations  to  a  creative  mind,  for  they  had  no  belief  in  the  ex 
istence  of  such  a  mind.  They  held  that  one  had  only  to  live 
wisely  and  well,  and  thus  transmit  the  principle  of  life,  not 
only  unvitiated,  but  strengthened  and  enlarged.  Sins 
against  body  and  mind  were  sins  against  the  race,  and  it  was 
their  creed  that  the  stronger,  fuller  and  more  nearly  complete 
they  made  their  lives  the  richer  and  fuller  would  be  the  life 
that  succeeded  them.  They  scouted  as  utterly  unproved  and 
irrational  the  idea  that  they  could  live  after  death,  excepting 
as  the  plant  lives  by  adding  to  the  material  life  and  well-be 
ing  of  other  plants.  But  at  that  time  the  spring  and  vigor  of 
youth  were  in  their  heart  and  brain,  and  it  seemed  to  them  a 
glorious  thing  to  live  and  do  their  part  in  the  advancement  of 
the  race  toward  a  stage  of  perfection  not  dreamed  of  by  the 
unthinking  masses. 

Alas  for  their  visions  of  future  achievement!  An  ava 
lanche  of  wealth  had  overwhelmed  Hilland.  His  letters  to 
his  friend  had  grown  more  and  more  infrequent,  and  they  con 
tained  many  traces  of  the  business  cares  and  the  distractions 
inseparable  from  his  possessions  and  new  relations.  And  now 
for  causes  just  the  reverse  Graham  also  was  forsaking  his 


16  HIS  SOMBRE   RIVALS 

studies.  His  modest  inheritance,  invested  chiefly  in  real  es 
tate,  had  so  far  depreciated  that  apparently  it  could  not  much 
longer  provide  for  even  his  frugal  life  abroad. 

"I  must  give  up  my  chosen  career  for  a  life  of  bread-win 
ning,"  he  had  concluded  sadly,  and  he  was  ready  to  avail 
himself  of  any  good  opening  that  offered.  Therefore  he  knew 
not  where  his  lot  would  be  cast  on  the  broad  continent  be 
yond  the  revolving  light  that  loomed  every  moment  more  dis 
tinctly  in  the  west. 

A  few  days  later  found  him  at  the  residence  of  Mrs.  May- 
burn,  a  pretty  cottage  in  a  suburb  of  an  eastern  city.  This 
lady  was  his  aunt  by  marriage,  and  had  long  been  a  widow. 
She  had  never  manifested  much  interest  in  her  nephew,  but 
since  she  was  his  nearest  relative  he  felt  that  he  could  not  do 
less  than  call  upon  her.  To  his  agreeable  surprise  he  found 
that  time  had  mellowed  her  spirit  and  softened  her  angulari 
ties.  After  the  death  of  her  husband  she  had  developed  un 
usual  ability  to  take  care  of  herself,  and  had  shown  little  dis 
position  to  take  care  of  any  one  else.  Her  thrift  and  econ 
omy  had  greatly  enhanced  her  resources,  and  her  investments 
had  been  profitable,  while  the  sense  of  increasing  abundance 
had  had  a  happy  effect  on  her  character.  Within  the  past 
year  she  had  purchased  the  dwelling  in  which  she  now  re 
sided,  and  to  which  she  welcomed  Graham  with  unexpected 
warmth.  So  far  from  permitting  him  to  make  simply  a  for 
mal  call,  she  insisted  on  an  extended  visit,  and  he,  divorced 
from  his  studies  and  therefore  feeling  his  isolation  more 
keenly  than  ever  before,  assented. 

"My  home  is  accessible,"  she  said,  "and  from  this  point 
you  can  make  inquiries  and  look  around  for  business  oppor 
tunities  quite  as  well  as  from  a  city  hotel." 

She  was  so  cordial,  so  perfectly  sincere,  that  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life  he  felt  what  it  was  to  have  kindred  and  a  place 
in  the  world  that  was  not  purchased. 

He  had  found  his  financial  affairs  in  a  much  beter  condi 
tion  than  he  had  expected.  Some  improvements  were  on 
foot  which  promised  to  advance  the  value  of  his  real  estate  so 


AN  EMBODIMENT  OF  MAY  17 

largely  as  to  make  him  independent,  and  he  was  much  in 
clined  to  return  to  Germany  and  resume  his  studies. 

"I  will  rest  and  vegetate  for  a  time,"  he  concluded.  "I 
will  wait  till  my  friend  Hilland  returns  from  the  West,  and 
then,  when  the  impulse  of  work  takes  possession  of  me  again, 
I  will  decide  upon  my  course." 

He  had  come  over  the  ocean  to  meet  his  fate,  and  not  the 
faintest  shadow  of  a  presentiment  of  this  truth  crossed  his 
mind  as  he  looked  tranquilly  from  his  aunt's  parlor  window 
at  the  beautiful  May  sunset.  The  cherry  blossoms  were  on 
the  wane,  and  the  light  puffs  of  wind  brought  the  white  petals 
down  like  flurries  of  snow;  the  plum-trees  looked  as  if  the 
snow  had  clung  to  every  branch  and  spray,  and  they  were  as 
white  as  they  could  have  been  after  some  breathless,  large- 
flaked  December  storm;  but  the  great  apple-tree  that  stood 
well  down  the  path  was  the  crowning  product  of  May.  A 
more  exquisite  bloom  of  pink  and  white  against  an  emerald 
foil  of  tender  young  leaves  could  not  have  existed  even  in. 
Eden,  nor  could  the  breath  of  Eve  have  been  more  sweet  than 
the  fragrance  exhaled.  The  air  was  soft  with  summer-like 
mildness,  and  the  breeze  that  fanned  Graham's  cheek  brought 
no  sense  of  chilliness.  The  sunset  hour,  with  its  spring 
beauty,  the  song  of  innumerable  birds,  and  especially  the 
strains  of  a  wood-thrush,  that,  like  a  prima  donna,  trilled  her 
melody,  clear,  sweet  and  distinct  above  the  feathered  chorus, 
penetrated  his  soul  with  subtle  and  delicious  influences.  A 
vague  longing  for  something  he  had  never  known  or  felt,  for 
something  that  books  had  never  taught,  or  experimental 
science  revealed,  throbbed  in  his  heart.  He  felt  that  his  life 
was  incomplete,  and  a  deeper  sense  of  isolation  came  over  him 
than  he  had  ever  experienced  in  foreign  cities  where  every 
face  was  strange.  Unconsciously  he  was  passing  under  the 
most  subtle  and  powerful  of  all  spells,  that  of  spring,  when 
the  impulse  to  mate  comes  not  to  the  birds  alone. 

It  so  happened  that  he  was  in  just  the  condition  to  suc 
cumb  to  this  influence.  His  mental  tension  was  relaxed. 
He  had  sat  down  by  the  wayside  of  life  to  rest  awhile.  He 


18  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

had  found  that  there  was  no  need  that  he  should  bestir  him 
self  in  money-getting,  and  his  mind  refused  to  return  imme 
diately  to  the  deep  abstractions  of  science.  It  pleaded  weari 
ness  of  the  world  and  of  the  pros  and  cons  of  conflicting 
theories  and  questions.  He  admitted  the  plea  and  said: — • 

"My  mind  shall  rest,  and  for  a  few  days,  possibly  weeks, 
it  shall  be  passively  receptive  of  just  such  influences  as  na 
ture  and  circumstances  chance  to  bring  to  it.  Who  knows 
but  that  I  may  gain  a  deeper  insight  into  the  hidden  mys 
teries  than  if  I  were  delving  among  the  dusty  tomes  of  a 
university  library?  For  some  reason  I  feel  to-night  as  if 
I  could  look  at  that  radiant,  fragrant  apple-tree  and  listen 
to  the  lullaby  of  the  birds  forever.  And  yet  their  songs  sug 
gest  a  thought  that  awakens  an  odd  pain  and  dissatisfaction. 
Each  one  is  singing  to  his  mate.  Each  one  is  giving  expres 
sion  to  an  overflowing  fulness  and  completeness  of  life;  and 
never  before  have  I  felt  my  life  so  incomplete  and  isolated. 

"I  wish  Hilland  was  here.  He  is  such  a  true  friend  that 
his  silence  is  companionship,  and  his  words  never  jar  dis 
cordantly.  It  seems  to  me  that  I  miss  him  more  to-night 
than  I  did  during  the  first  days  after  his  departure.  It's 
odd  that  I  should.  I  wonder  if  the  friendship,  the  love  of  a 
woman  could  be  more  to  me  than  that  of  Hilland.  What 
was  that  paragraph  from  Emerson  that  once  struck  me  so 
forcibly?  My  aunt  is  a  woman  of  solid  reading;  she  must 
have  Emerson.  Yes,  here  in  her  bookcase,  meagre  only  in 
the  number  of  volumes  it  contains,  is  what  I  want,"  and  he 
turned  the  leaves  rapidly  until  his  eyes  lighted  on  the  follow 
ing  passage : — 

"No  man  ever  forgot  the  visitations  of  that  power  to  his 
heart  and  brain  which  created  all  things  new ;  which  was  the 
dawn  in  him  of  music,  poetry,  and  art ;  which  made  the  face 
of  nature  radiant  with  purple  light,  the  morning  and  the 
night  varied  enchantments;  when  a  single  tone  of  one  voice 
could  make  the  heart  bound,  and  the  most  trivial  circumstance 
associated  with  one  form  was  put  in  the  amber  of  memory; 


AN  EMBODIMENT   OF  MAY  19 

when  he  became  all  eye  when  one  was  present,  and  all  memory 
when  one  was  gone." 

"Emerson  never  learned  that  at  a  university,  German  or 
otherwise.  He  writes  as  if  it  were  a  common  human  expe 
rience,  and  yet  I  know  no  more  about  it  than  of  the  sensa 
tions  of  a  man  who  has  lost  an  arm.  I  suppose  losing  one's 
heart  is  much  the  same.  As  long  as  a  man's  limbs  are  intact 
he  is  scarcely  conscious  of  them,  but  when  one  is  gone  it 
troubles  him  all  the  time,  although  it  isn't  there.  Now  when 
Hi  Hand  left  me  I  felt  guilty  at  the  ease  with  which  I  could 
forget  him  in  the  library  and  laboratory.  I  did  not  become 
all  memory.  I  knew  he  was  my  best,  my  only  friend ;  he  is 
still;  but  he  is  not  essential  to  my  life.  Clearly,  according 
to  Emerson,  I  am  as  ignorant  as  a  child  of  one  of  the  deepest 
experiences  of  life,  and  very  probably  had  better  remain  so, 
and  yet  the  hour  is  playing  strange  tricks  with  my  fancy." 

Thus  it  may  be  perceived  that  Alford  Graham  was  pe 
culiarly  open  on  this  deceitful  May  evening,  which  promised 
peace  and  security,  to  the  impending  stroke  of  fate.  Its  har 
binger  first  appeared  in  the  form  of  a  white  Spitz  dog,  bark 
ing  vivaciously  under  the  apple-tree,  where  a  path  from  a 
neighboring  residence  intersected  the  walk  leading  from  Mrs. 
Mayburn's  cottage  to  the  street.  Evidently  some  one  was 
playing  with  the  little  creature,  and  was  pretending  to  be 
kept  at  bay  by  its  belligerent  attitude.  Suddenly  there  was 
a  rush  and  a  flutter  of  white  draperies,  and  the  dog  retreated 
toward  Graham,  barking  with  still  greater  excitement.  Then 
the  young  man  saw  coming  up  the  path  with  quick,  lithe 
tread,  sudden  pauses,  and  little  impetuous  dashes  at  her 
canine  playmate,  a  being  that  might  have  been  an  emana 
tion  from  the  radiant  apple-tree,  or,  rather,  the  human  em 
bodiment  of  the  blossoming  period  of  the  year.  Her  low 
wide  brow  and  her  neck  were  snowy  white,  and  no  pink  petal 
on  the  trees  above  her  could  surpass  the  bloom  on  her  cheeks. 
Her  large,  dark,  lustrous  eyes  were  brimming  over  with  fun, 
and  unconscious  of  observation,  she  moved  with  the  natural, 
unstudied  grace  of  a  child. 


20  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

Graham  thought,  "No  scene  of  nature  is  complete  without 
the  human  element,  and  now  the  very  genius  of  the  hour  and 
season  has  appeared;"  and  he  hastily  concealed  himself  be 
hind  the  curtains,  unwilling  to  lose  one  glimpse  of  a  picture 
that  made  every  nerve  tingle  with  pleasure.  His  first  glance 
had  revealed  that  the  fair  vision  was  not  a  child,  but  a  tall, 
graceful  girl,  who  happily  had  not  yet  passed  beyond  the 
sportive  impulses  of  childhood. 

Every  moment  she  came  nearer,  until  at  last  she  stood 
opposite  the  window.  He  could  see  the  blue  veins  branching 
across  her  temples,  the  quick  rise  and  fall  of  her  bosom, 
caused  by  rather  violent  exertion,  the  wavy  outlines  of  light 
brown  hair  that  was  gathered  in  a  Greek  coil  at  the  back  of 
the  shapely  head.  She  had  the  rare  combination  of  dark 
eyes  and  light  hair  which  made  the  lustre  of  her  eyes  all  the 
more  striking.  He  never  forgot  that  moment  as  she  stood 
panting  before  him  on  the  gravel  walk,  her  girlhood's  grace 
blending  so  harmoniously  with  her  budding  womanhood. 
For  a  moment  the  thought  crossed  his  mind  that  under  the 
spell  of  the  spring  evening  his  own  fancy  had  created  her, 
and  that  if  he  looked  away  and  turned  again  he  would  see 
nothing  but  the  pink  and  white  blossoms,  and  hear  only  the 
jubilant  song  of  the  birds. 

The  Spitz  dog,  however,  could  not  possibly  have  any  such 
unsubstantial  origin,  and  this  small  Cerberus  had  now  en 
tered  the  room,  and  was  barking  furiously  at  him  as  an 
unrecognized  stranger.  A  moment  later  his  vision  under 
the  window  stood  in  the  doorway.  The  sportive  girl  was 
transformed  at  once  into  a  well-bred  young  woman  who  re 
marked  quietly,  "I  beg  your  pardon.  I  expected  to  find  Mrs. 
Mayburn  here;"  and  she  departed  to  search  for  that  lady 
through  the  house  with  a  prompt  freedom  which  suggested 
relations  of  the  most  friendly  intimacy. 


MERE   FANCIES  21 


CHAPTER   II 

MEEE     FANCIES 

GRAHAM'S  disposition  to  make  his  aunt  a  visit  was 
not  at  all  chilled  by  the  discovery  that  she  had  so 
fair  a  neighbor.  He  was  conscious  of  little  more 
than  an  impulse  to  form  the  acquaintance  of  one  who  might 
give  a  peculiar  charm  and  piquancy  to  his  May-day  vacation, 
and  enrich  him  with  an  experience  that  had  been  wholly 
wanting  in  his  secluded  and  studious  life.  With  a  smile  he 
permitted  the  fancy — for  he  was  in  a  mood  for  all  sorts  of 
fancies  on  this  evening — that  if  this  girl  could  teach  him  to 
interpret  Emerson's  words,  he  would  make  no  crabbed  resis 
tance.  And  yet  the  remote  possibility  of  such  an  event  gave 
him  a  sense  of  security,  and  prompted  him  all  the  more  to 
yield  himself  for  the  first  time  to  whatever  impressions  a 
young  and  pretty  woman  might  be  able  to  make  upon  him. 
His  very  disposition  toward  experiment  and  analysis  inclined 
him  to  experiment  with  himself.  Thus  it  would  seem  that 
even  the  perfect  evening,  and  the  vision  that  had  emerged 
from  under  the  apple-boughs,  could  not  wholly  banish  a 
tendency  to  give  a  scientific  cast  to  the  mood  and  fancies  of 
the  hour. 

His  aunt  now  summoned  him  to  the  supper-room,  where 
he  was  formally  introduced  to  Miss  Grace  St.  John,  with 
whom  his  first  meal  under  his  relative's  roof  was  destined 
to  be  taken. 

As  may  naturally  be  supposed,  Graham  was  not  well 
furnished  with  small  talk,  and  while  he  had  not  the  proverbial 
shyness  and  awkwardness  of  the  student,  he  was  somewhat 


22  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

silent  because  he  knew  not  what  to  say.  The  young  guest 
was  entirely  at  her  ease,  and  her  familiarity  with  the  hostess 
enabled  her  to  chat  freely  and  naturally  on  topics  of  mutual 
interest,  thus  giving  Graham  time  for  those  observations  to 
which  all  are  inclined  when  meeting  one  who  has  taken  a 
sudden  and  strong  hold  upon  the  attention. 

He  speedily  concluded  that  she  could  not  be  less  than 
nineteen  or  twenty  years  of  age,  and  that  she  was  not  what 
he  would  term  a  society  girl — a  type  that  he  had  learned  to 
recognize  from  not  a  few  representatives  of  his  countrywomen 
whom  he  had  seen  abroad,  rather  than  from  much  personal 
acquaintance.  It  should  not  be  understood  that  he  had 
shunned  society  altogether,  and  his  position  had  ever  en 
titled  him  to  enter  the  best;  but  the  young  women  whom  it 
had  been  his  fortune  to  meet  had  failed  to  interest  him  as 
completely  as  he  had  proved  himself  a  bore  to  them.  Their 
worlds  were  too  widely  separated  for  mutual  sympathy ;  and 
after  brief  excursions  among  the  drawing-rooms  to  which 
Hilland  had  usually  dragged  him,  he  returned  to  his  books 
with  a  deeper  satisfaction  and  content.  Would  his  acquain 
tance  with  Miss  St.  John  lead  to  a  like  result?  He  was 
watching  and  waiting  to  see,  and  she  had  the  advantage — if 
it  was  an  advantage — of  making  a  good  first  impression. 

Every  moment  increased  this  predisposition  in  her  favor. 
She  must  have  known  that  she  was  very  attractive,  for  few 
girls  reach  her  age  without  attaining  such  knowledge;  but 
her  observer,  and  in  a  certain  sense  her  critic,  could  not  de 
tect  the  faintest  trace  of  affectation  or  self-consciousness. 
Her  manner,  her  words,  and  even  their  accent  seemed  un 
studied,  unpracticed,  and  unmodelled  after  any  received 
type.  Her  glance  was  peculiarly  open  and  direct,  and  from 
the  first  she  gave  Graham  the  feeling  that  she  was  one  who 
might  be  trusted  absolutely.  That  she  had  tact  and  kindli 
ness  also  was  evidenced  by  the  fact  that  she  did  not  misun 
derstand  or  resent  his  comparative'  silence.  At  first,  after 
learning  that  he  had  lived  much  abroad,  her  manner  toward 
him  had  been  a  little  shy  and  wary,  indicating  that  she  may 


MERE   FANCIES  23 

have  surmised  that  his  reticence  was  the  result  of  a  certain 
kind  of  superiority  which  travelled  men — especially  young 
men — often  assume  when  meeting  those  whose  lives  are  sup 
posed  to  have  a  narrow  horizon;  but  she  quickly  discovered 
that  Graham  had  no  foreign-bred  pre-eminence  to  parade — 
that  he  wanted  to  talk  with  her  if  he  could  only  find  some 
common  subject  of  interest.  This  she  supplied  by  taking 
him  to  ground  with  which  he  was  perfectly  familiar,  for  she 
asked  him  to  tell  her  something  about  university  life  in 
Germany.  On  such  a  theme  he  could  converse  well,  and 
before  long  a  fire  of  eager  questions  proved  that  he  had  not 
only  a  deeply  interested  listener  but  also  a  very  intelligent 
one. 

Mrs.  Mayburn  smiled  complacently,  for  she  had  some 
natural  desire  that  her  nephew  should  make  a  favorable  im 
pression.  In  regard  to  Miss  St.  John  she  had  long  ceased 
to  have  any  misgivings,  and  the  approval  that  she  saw  in 
Graham's  eyes  was  expected  as  a  matter  of  course.  This 
approval  she  soon  developed  into  positive  admiration  by  lead 
ing  her  favorite  to  speak  of  her  own  past. 

"Grace,  you  must  know,  Alford,  is  the  daughter  of  an 
army  officer,  and  has  seen  some  odd  phases  of  life  at  the 
various  military  stations  where  her  father  has  been  on  duty." 

These  words  piqued  Graham's  curiosity  at  once,  and  he 
became  the  questioner.  His  own  frank  effort  to  entertain 
was  now  rewarded,  and  the  young  girl,  possessing  easy  and 
natural  powers  of  description,  gave  sketches  of  life  at  mili 
tary  posts  which  to  Graham  had  more  than  the  charm  of 
novelty.  Unconsciously  she  was  accounting  for  herself.  In 
the  refined  yet  unconventional  society  of  officers  and  their 
wives  she  had  acquired  the  frank  manner  so  peculiarly  her 
own.  But  the  characteristic  which  won  Graham's  interest 
most  strongly  was  her  abounding  mirthfulness.  It  ran 
through  all  her  words  like  a  golden  thread.  The  instinctive 
craving  of  every  nature  is  for  that  which  supplements  itself, 
and  Graham  found  something  so  genial  in  Miss  St.  John's 
ready  smile  and  laughing  eyes,  which  suggested  an  over-full 


24  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

fountain  of  joyousness  within,  that  his  heart,  chilled  and 
repressed  from  childhood,  began  to  give  signs  of  its  existence, 
even  during  the  first  hour  of  their  acquaintance.  It  is  true, 
as  we  have  seen,  that  he  was  in  a  very  receptive  condition,  but 
then  a  smile,  a  glance  that  is  like  warm  sunshine,  is  never 
devoid  of  power. 

The  long  May  twilight  had  faded,  and  they  were  still 
lingering  over  the  supper-table,  when  a  middle-aged  colored 
woman  in  a  flaming  red  turban  appeared  in  the  doorway  and 
said,  "Pardon,  Mis'  Mayburn ;  I'se  a-hopin'  you'll  'scuse  me. 
I  jes  step  over  to  tell  Miss  Grace  dat  de  major's  po'ful  oneasy, 
— 'spected  you  back  afo'." 

The  girl  arose  with  alacrity,  saying,  "Mr.  Graham,  you 
have  brought  me  into  danger,  and  must  now  extricate  me. 
Papa  is  an  inveterate  whist-player,  and  you  have  put  my 
errand  here  quite  out  of  my  mind.  I  didn't  come  for  the 
sake  of  your  delicious  muffins  altogether" — with  a  nod 
at  her  hostess;  "our  game  has  been  broken  up,  you  know, 
Mrs.  Mayburn,  by  the  departure  of  Mrs.  Weeks  and  her 
daughter.  You  have  often  played  a  good  hand  with  us,  and 
papa  thought  you  would  come  over  this  evening,  and  that 
you,  from  your  better  acquaintance  with  our  neighbors, 
might  know  of  some  one  who  enjoyed  the  game  sufficiently 
to  join  us  quite  often.  Mr.  Graham,  you  must  be  the  one  I 
am  seeking.  A  gentleman  versed  in  the  lore  of  two  con 
tinents  certainly  understands  whist,  or,  at  least,  can  penetrate 
its  mysteries  at  a  single  sitting." 

"Suppose  I  punish  the  irony  of  your  concluding  words," 
Graham  replied,  "by  saying  that  I  know  just  enough  about 
the  game  to  be  aware  how  much  skill  is  required  to  play  with 
such  a  veteran  as  your  father  ?" 

"If  you  did  you  would  punish  papa  also,  who  is  inno 
cent." 

"That  cannot  be  thought  of,  although,  in  truth,  I  play 
but  an  indifferent  game.  If  you  will  make  amends  by  teach 
ing  me  I  will  try  to  perpetrate  as  few  blunders  as  possible." 

"Indeed,  sir,  you  forget.     You  are  to  make  amends  for 


MERE   FANCIES  25 

keeping  me  talking  here,  forgetful  of  filial  duty,  by  giving 
me  a  chance  to  teach  you.  You  are  to  be  led  meekly  in  as  a 
trophy  by  which  I  am  to  propitiate  my  stern  parent,  who  has 
military  ideas  of  promptness  and  obedience." 

"What  if  he  should  place  me  under  arrest  ?" 

"Then  Mrs.  Mayburn  and  I  will  become  your  jailers,  and 
we  shall  keep  you  here  until  you  are  one  of  the  most  accom 
plished  whist-players  in  the  land." 

"If  you  will  promise  to  stand  guard  over  me  some  of  the 
time  I  will  submit  to  any  conditions." 

"You  are  already  making  one  condition,  and  may  think 
of  a  dozen  more.  It  will  be  better  to  parole  you  with  the 
understanding  that  you  are  to  put  in  an  appearance  at  the 
hour  for  whist ;"  and  with  similar  light  talk  they  went  down 
the  walk  under  the  apple-boughs,  whence  in  Graham's  fancy 
the  fair  girl  had  had  her  origin.  As  they  passed  under  the 
shadow  he  saw  the  dusky  outline  of  a  rustic  seat  leaning 
against  the  bole  of  the  tree,  and  he  wondered  if  he  should  ever 
induce  his  present  guide  through  the  darkened  paths  to  come 
there  some  moonlight  evening,  and  listen  to  the  fancies  which 
her  unexpected  appearance  had  occasioned.  The  possibility 
of  such  an  event  in  contrast  with  its  far  greater  improbabil 
ity  caused  him  to  sigh,  and  then  he  smiled  broadly  at  himself 
in  the  darkness. 

When  they  had  passed  a  clump  of  evergreens,  a  lighted 
cottage  presented  itself,  and  Miss  St.  John  sprang  lightly  up 
the  steps,  pushed  open  the  hall  door,  and  cried  through  the 
open  entrance  to  a  cosey  apartment,  "No  occasion  for  hostili 
ties,  papa.  I  have  made  a  capture  that  gives  the  promise  of 
whist  not  only  this  evening  but  also  for  several  more  to  come." 

As  Graham  and  Mrs.  Mayburn  entered,  a  tall,  white- 
haired  man  lifted  his  foot  from  off  a  cushion,  and  rose  with 
some  little  difficulty,  but  having  gained  his  feet,  his  bearing 
was  erect  and  soldier-like,  and  his  courtesy  perfect,  although 
toward  Mrs.  Mayburn  it  was  tinged  with  the  gallantry  of  a 
former  generation.  Some  brief  explanations  followed,  and 
then  Major  St  John  turned  upon  Graham  the  dark  eyes 

B— ROE— XIII 


26  HIS   SOMBRE    RIVALS 

which  his  daughter  had  inherited,  and  which  seemed  all  the 
more  brilliant  in  contrast  with  his  frosty  eyebrows,  and  said 
genially,  "It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  be  willing  to  aid  in  be 
guiling  an  old  man's  tedium."  Turning  to  his  daughter  he 
added  a  litle  querulously,  "There  must  be  a  storm  brewing, 
Grace,"  and  he  drew  in  his  breath  as  if  in  pain. 

"Does  your  wound  trouble  you  to-night,  papa  ?"  she  asked 
gently. 

"Yes,  just  as  it  always  does  before  a  storm." 

"It  is  perfectly  clear  without,"  she  resumed.  "Perhaps 
the  room  has  become  a  little  cold.  The  evenings  are  still 
damp  and  chilly ;"  and  she  threw  two  or  three  billets  of  wood 
on  the  open  fire,  kindling  a  blaze  that  sprang  cheerily  up  the 
chimney. 

The  room  seemed  to  be  a  combination  of  parlor  and  li 
brary,  and  it  satisfied  Graham's  ideal  of  a  living  apartment. 
Easy-chairs  of  various  patterns  stood  here  and  there  and 
looked  as  if  constructed  by  the  very  genius  of  comfort.  A 
secretary  in  the  corner  near  a  window  was  open,  suggesting 
absent  friends  and  the  pleasure  of  writing  to  them  amid  such 
agreeable  surroundings.  Again  Graham  queried,  prompted 
by  the  peculiar  influences  that  had  gained  the  mastery  on  this 
tranquil  but  eventful  evening,  "Will  Miss  St.  John  ever  sit 
there  penning  words  straight  from  her  heart  to  me  ?" 

He  was  brought  back  to  prose  and  reality  by  the  major. 
Mrs  Mayburn  had  been  condoling  with  him,  and  he  now 
turned  and  said,  "I  hope,  my  dear  sir,  that  you  may  never 
carry  around  such  a  barometer  as  I  am  afflicted  with.  A 
man  with  an  infirmity  grows  a  little  egotistical,  if  not 
worse." 

"You  have  much  consolation,  sir,  in  remembering  how 
you  came  by  your  infirmity,"  Graham  replied.  "Men  bear 
ing  such  proofs  of  service  to  their  country  are  not  plentiful  in 
our  money-getting  land." 

His  daughter's  laugh  rang  out  musically  as  she  cried, 
"That  was  meant  to  be  a  fine  stroke  of  diplomacy.  Papa, 
you  will  now  have  to  pardon  a  score  of  blunders." 


MERE  FANCIES  27 

"I  have  as  yet  no  proof  that  any  will  be  made,"  the  major 
remarked,  and  in  fact  Graham  had  underrated  his  acquain 
tance  with  the  game.  He  was  quite  equal  to  his  aunt  in  pro 
ficiency,  and  with  Miss  St.  John  for  his  partner  he  was  on 
his  mettle.  He  found  her  skilful  indeed,  quick,  penetrating, 
and  possessed  of  an  excellent  memory.  They  held  their  own 
so  well  that  the  major's  spirits  rose  hourly.  He  forgot  his 
wound  in  the  complete  absorption  of  his  favorite  recreation. 

As  opportunity  occurred  Graham  could  not  keep  his  eyes 
from  wandering  here  and  there  about  the  apartment  that  had 
so  taken  his  fancy,  especially  toward  the  large,  well-filled 
bookcase  and  the  pictures,  which,  if  not  very  expensive,  had 
evidently  been  the  choice  of  a  cultivated  taste. 

They  were  brought  to  a  consciousness  of  the  flight  of  time 
by  a  clock  chiming  out  the  hour  of  eleven,  and  the  old  soldier 
with  a  sigh  of  regret  saw  Mrs.  Mayburn  rise.  Miss  St.  John 
touched  a  silver  bell,  and  a  moment  later  the  same  negress 
who  had  reminded  her  of  her  father's  impatience  early  in  the 
evening  entered  with  a  tray  bearing  a  decanter  of  wine, 
glasses,  and  some  wafer-like  cakes. 

"Have  I  earned  the  indulgence  of  a  glance  at  your 
books  ?"  Graham  asked. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  Miss  St.  John  replied ;  "your  martyr-like 
submission  shall  be  further  rewarded  by  permission  to  borrow 
any  of  them  while  in  town.  I  doubt,  however,  if  you  will 
find  them  profound  enough  for  your  taste." 

"I  shall  take  all  point  from  your  irony  by  asking  if  you 
think  one  can  relish  nothing  but  intellectual  roast  beef.  I 
am  enjoying  one  of  your  delicate  cakes.  You  must  have  an 
excellent  cook." 

"Papa  says  he  has,  in  the  line  of  cake  and  pastry;  but 
then  he  is  partial." 

"What !  did  you  make  them  ?" 

"Why  not?'" 

"Oh,  I'm  not  objecting.  Did  my  manners  permit,  I'd 
empty  the  plate.  Still,  I  was  under  the  impression  that 
young  ladies  were  not  adepts  in  this  sort  of  thing." 


28  niS  SOMBRE   RIVALS 

"You  have  been  abroad  so  long  that  you  may  have  to  re 
vise  many  of  your  impressions.  Of  course  retired  army  offi 
cers  are  naturally  in  a  condition  to  import  chefs  de  cuisine, 
but  then  we  like  to  keep  up  the  idea  of  republican  sim 
plicity." 

"Could  you  be  so  very  kind  as  to  induce  your  father  to 
ask  me  to  make  one  of  your  evening  quartette  as  often  as 
possible  ?" 

"The  relevancy  of  that  request  is  striking.  Was  it  sug 
gested  by  the  flavor  of  the  cakes?  I  sometimes  forget  to 
make  them." 

"Their  absence  would  not  prevent  my  taste  from  being 
gratified  if  you  will  permit  me  to  come.  Here  is  a  marked 
volume  of  Emerson's  works.  May  I  take  it  for  af  day  or 
two?" 

She  blushed  slightly,  hesitated  perceptibly,  and  then  said, 
"Yes." 

"Alford,"  broke  in  his  aunt,  "you  students  have  the  name 
of  being  great  owls,  but  for  an  old  woman  of  my  regular 
habits  it's  getting  late." 

"My  daughter  informs  me,"  the  major  remarked  to  Gra 
ham  in  parting,  "that  we  may  be  able  to  induce  you  to  take 
a  hand  with  us  quite  often.  If  you  should  ever  become  as 
old  and  crippled  as  I  am  you  will  know  how  to  appreciate 
such  kindness.'" 

"Indeed,  sir,  Miss  St.  John  must  testify  that  I  asked  to 
share  your  game  as  a  privilege.  I  can  scarcely  remember 
to  have  passed  so  pleasant  an  evening." 

"Mrs.  Mayburn,  do  try  to  keep  him  in  this  amiable  frame 
of  mind,"  cried  the  girl. 

"I  think  I  shall  need  your  aid,"  said  that  lady,  with  a 
smile.  "Come,  Alford,  it  is  next  to  impossible  to  get  you 
away." 

"Papa's  unfortunate  barometer  will  prove  correct,  I 
fear,"  said  Miss  St.  John,  following  them  out  on  the  piazza, 
for  a  thin  scud  was  already  veiling  the  stars,  and  there  was 
an  ominous  moan  of  the  wind. 


MERE   FANCIES  29 

"To-morrow  will  be  a  stormy  day,"  remarked  Mrs.  May- 
burn,  who  prided  herself  on  her  weather  wisdom. 

"I'm  sorry,"  Miss  St.  John  continued,  "for  it  will  spoil 
our  fairy  world  of  blossoms,  and  I  am  still  more  sorry  for 
papa's  sake." 

"Should  the  day  prove  a  long,  dismal,  rainy  one,"  Gra 
ham  ventured,  "may  I  not  come  over  and  help  entertain  your 
father?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  girl,  earnestly.  "It  cannot  seem  strange 
to  you  that  time  should  often  hang  heavily  on  his  hands,  and 
I  am  grateful  to  any  one  who  helps  me  to  enliven  his  hours." 

Before  Graham  repassed  under  the  apple-tree  boughs  he 
had  fully  decided  to  win  at  least  Miss  St.  John's  gratitude. 


SO  HIS   SOMBRE  RIVALS 


CHAPTEK    III 

THE    VERDICT    OF    A    SAGE 

WHEN"  Graham  reached  his  room  he  was  in  no  mood 
for  sleep.  At  first  he  lapsed  into  a  long  revery 
over  the  events  of  the  evening,  trivial  in  them 
selves,  and  yet  for  some  reason  holding  a  controlling  influ 
ence  over  his  thoughts.  Miss  St.  John  was  a  new  revelation 
of  womanhood  to  him,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  his 
heart  had  been  stirred  by  a  woman's  tones  and  glances.  A 
deep  chord  in  his  nature  vibrated  when  she  spoke  and  smiled. 
What  did  it  mean  ?  He  had  followed  his  impulse  to  permit 
this  stranger  to  make  any  impression  within  her  power,  and 
he  found  that  she  had  decidedly  interested  him.  As  he  tried 
to  analyze  her  power  he  concluded  that  it  lay  chiefly  in  the 
mirthfulness,  the  joyousness  of  her  spirit.  She  quickened 
his  cool,  deliberate  pulse.  Her  smile  was  not  an  affair  of 
facial  muscles,  but  had  a  vivifying  warmth.  It  made  him 
suspect  that  his  life  was  becoming  cold  and  self-centred,  that 
he  was  missing  the  deepest  and  best  experiences  of  an  exist 
ence  that  was  brief  indeed  at  best,  and,  as  he  believed,  soon 
ceased  forever.  The  love  of  study  and  ambition  had  sufficed 
thus  far,  but  actuated  by  his  own  materialistic  creed  he  was 
bound  to  make  the  most  of  life  while  it  lasted.  According 
to  Emerson  he  was  as  yet  but  in  the  earlier  stages  of  evolu 
tion,  and  his  highest  manhood  wholly  undeveloped.  Had 
not  "music,  poetry,  and  art"  dawned  in  his  mind  ?  Was  na 
ture  but  a  mechanism  after  whose  laws  he  had  been  groping 
like  an  anatomist  who  finds  in  the  godlike  form  bone  and 
tissue  merely?  As  he  had  sat  watching  the  sunset  a  few 


THE    VERDICT   OF   A    SAGE  31 

hours  previous,  the  element  of  beauty  had  been  present  to  him 
as  never  before.  Could  this  sense  of  beauty  become  so  en 
larged  that  the  world  would  be  transfigured,  "radiant  with 
purple  light"  ?  Morning  had  often  brought  to  him  weariness 
from  sleepless  hours  during  which  he  had  racked  his  brain 
over  problems  too  deep  for  him,  and  evening  had  found  him 
still  baffled,  disappointed,  and  disposed  to  ask  in  view  of  his 
toil,  Cui  bono?  What  ground  had  Emerson  for  saying  that 
these  same  mornings  and  evenings  might  be  filled  with  "varied 
enchantments"  ?  The  reason,  the  cause  of  these  unknown 
conditions  of  life,  was  given  unmistakably.  The  Concord 
sage  had  virtually  asserted  that  he,  Alford  Graham,  would 
never  truly  exist  until  his  one-sided  masculine  nature  had 
been  supplemented  by  the  feminine  soul  which  alone  could 
give  to  his  being  completeness  and  the  power  to  attain  his 
full  development. 

"Well,"  he  soliloquized,  laughing,  "I  have  not  been  aware 
that  hitherto  I  have  been  only  a  mollusk,  a  polyp  of  a  man. 
I  am  inclined  to  think  that  Emerson's  'Pegasus'  took  the  bit 
— got  the  better  of  him  on  one  occasion ;  but  if  there  is  any 
truth  in  what  he  writes  it  might  not  be  a  bad  idea  to  try  a 
little  of  the  kind  of  evolution  that  he  suggests  and  see  what 
comes  of  it.  I  am  already  confident  that  I  could  see  infi 
nitely  more  than  I  do  if  I  could  look  at  the  world  through 
Miss  St.  John's  eyes  as  well  as  my  own,  but  I  run  no  slight 
risk  in  obtaining  that  vision.  Her  eyes  are  stars  that  must 
have  drawn  worshippers,  not  only  from  the  east,  but  from 
every  point  of  the  compass.  I  should  be  in  a  sorry  plight 
if  I  should  become  'all  memory,'  and  from  my  fair  divinity 
receive  as  sole  response,  'Please  forget/  If  the  philosopher 
could  guarantee  that  she  also  would  be  'all  eye  and  all  mem 
ory,'  one  might  indeed  covet  Miss  St.  John  as  the  teacher  of 
the  higher  mysteries.  Life  is  not  very  exhilarating  at  best, 
but  for  a  man  to  set  his  heart  on  such  a  woman  as  this  girl 
promises  to  be,  and  then  be  denied — why,  he  had  better  re 
main  a  polyp.  Come,  come,  Alford  Graham,  you  have  had 
your  hour  of  sentiment — out  of  deference  to  Mr.  Emerson  I 


32  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

X 

won't  call  it  weakness — and  it's  time  you  remembered  that 
you  are  a  comparatively  poor  man,  that  Miss  St.  John  has 
already  been  the  choice  of  a  score  at  least,  and  probably  has 
made  her  own  choice.  I  shall  therefore  permit  no  delusions 
and  the  growth  of  no  false  hopes." 

Having  reached  this  prudent  conclusion,  Graham  yawned, 
smiled  at  the  unwonted  mood  in  which  he  had  indulged,  and 
with  the  philosophic  purpose  of  finding  an  opiate  in  the  pages 
that  had  contained  one  paragraph  rather  too  exciting,  he 
took  up  the  copy  of  Emerson  that  he  had  borrowed.  The 
book  fell  open,  indicating  that  some  one  had  often  turned  to 
the  pages  before  him.  One  passage  was  strongly  marked  on 
either  side  and  underscored.  With  a  laugh  he  saw  that  it 
was  the  one  he  had  been  dwelling  upon — "No  man  ever 
forgot,"  etc. 

"Now  I  know  why  she  blushed  slightly  and  hesitated  to 
lend  me  this  volume,"  he  thought.  "I  suppose  I  may  read  in 
this  instance,  'No  woman  ever  forgot.'  Of  course,  it  would 
be  strange  if  she  had  not  learned  to  understand  these  words. 
What  else  has  she  marked  8" 

Here  and  there  were  many  delicate  marginal  lines  indi 
cating  approval  and  interest,  but  they  were  so  delicate  as  to 
suggest  that  the  strong  scoring  of  the  significant  passage  was 
not  the  work  of  Miss  St.  John,  but  rather  of  some  heavy 
masculine  hand.  This  seemed  to  restore  the  original  read 
ing,  "No  man  ever  forgot,"  and  some  man  had  apparently 
tried  to  inform  her  by  his  emphatic  lines  that  he  did  not 
intend  to  forget. 

"Well,  suppose  he  does  not  and  cannot,"  Graham  mused. 
"That  fact  places  her  under  no  obligations  to  be  'all  eye  and 
memory'  for  him.  And  yet  her  blush  and  hesitancy  and  the 
way  the  book  falls  open  at  this  passage  look  favorable  for 
him.  I  can  win  her  gratitude  by  amusing  the  old  major, 
and  with  that,  no  doubt,  I  shall  have  to  be  content." 

This  limitation  of  his  chances  caused  Graham  so  little 
solicitude  that  he  was  soon  sleeping  soundly. 


WARNING    OR   INCENTIVE?  83 


CHAPTER   IV 

WARNING   OE   INCENTIVE? 

THE  next  morning  proved  that  the  wound  which  Major 
St.  John  had  received  in  the  Mexican  War  was  a  cor 
rect  barometer.     From  a  leaden,  lowering  sky  the 
rain  fell  steadily,  and  a  chilly  wind  was  fast  dismantling 
the  trees  of  their  blossoms.     The  birds  had  suspended  their 
nest-building,  and  but  few  had  the  heart  to  sing. 

"You  seem  to  take  a  very  complacent  view  of  the  dreary 
prospect  without,"  Mrs.  Mayburn  remarked,  as  Graham  came 
smilingly  into  the  breakfast-room  and  greeted  her  with  a 
cheerful  note  in  his  tones.  "Such  a  day  as  this  means  rheu 
matism  for  me  and  an  aching  leg  for  Major  St.  John." 

"I  am  very  sorry,  aunt,"  he  replied,  "but  I  cannot  help 
remembering  also  that  it  is  not  altogether  an  ill  wind,  for  it 
will  blow  me  over  into  a  cosey  parlor  and  very  charming  so 
ciety — that  is,  if  Miss  St.  John  will  give  me  a  little  aid  in 
entertaining  her  father." 

"So  we  old  people  don't  count  for  anything." 

"That  doesn't  follow  at  all.  I  would  do  anything  in  my 
power  to  banish  your  rheumatism  and  the  major's  twinges, 
but  how  was  it  with  you  both  at  my  age  ?  I  can  answer  for 
the  major.  If  at  that  time  he  knew  another  major  with  such 
a  daughter  as  blesses  his  home,  his  devotion  to  the  preceding 
veteran  was  a  little  mixed." 

"Are  you  so  taken  by  Miss  St.  John  ?" 

"I  have  not  the  slightest  hope  of  being  taken  by  her." 

"You  know  what  I  mean  ?" 

"Yes,  but  I  wished  to  suggest  my  modest  hopes  and  ex- 


84  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS 

pectations  so  that  you  may  have  no  anxieties  if  I  avail  my 
self,  during  my  visit,  of  the  chance  of  seeing  what  I  can  of  an 
unusually  fine  girl.  Acquaintance  with  such  society  is  the 
part  of  my  education  most  sadly  neglected.  Nevertheless, 
you  will  find  me  devotedly  at  your  service  whenever  you  will 
express  your  wishes." 

"Do  not  imagine  that  I  am  disposed  to  find  fault.  Grace 
is  a  great  favorite  of  mine.  She  is  a  good  old-fashioned  girl, 
not  one  of  your  vain,  heartless,  selfish  creatures  with  only  a 
veneer  of  good  breeding.  I  see  her  almost  every  day,  either 
here  or  in  her  own  home,  and  I  know  her  welL  You  have 
seen  that  she  is  fitted  to  shine  anywhere,  but  it  is  for  her  home 
qualities  that  I  love  and  admire  her  most  Her  father  is 
crippled  and  querulous;  indeed  he  is  often  exceedingly  irri 
table.  Everything  must  please  him  or  else  he  is  inclined  to 
storm  as  he  did  in  his  regiment,  and  occasionally  he  empha 
sizes  his  words  without  much  regard  to  the  third  command 
ment.  But  his  gusts  of  anger  are  over  quickly,  and  a  kinder- 
hearted  and  more  upright  man  never  lived.  Of  course  Amer 
ican  servants  won't  stand  harsh  words.  They  want  to  do  all 
the  fault-finding,  and  the  poor  old  gentleman  would  have  a 
hard  time  of  it  were  it  not  for  Grace.  She  knows  how  to 
manage  both  him  and  them,  and  that  colored  woman  you  saw 
wouldn't  leave  him  if  he  beat  and  swore  at  her  every  day. 
She  was  a  slave  in  the  family  of  Grace's  mother,  who  was  a 
Southern  lady,  and  the  major  gave  the  poor  creature  her  lib 
erty  when  he  brought  his  wife  to  the  North.  Grace  is  sun 
shine  embodied.  She  makes  her  old,  irritable,  and  sometimes 
gouty  father  happy  in  spite  of  himself.  It  was  just  like  her 
to  accept  of  your  offer  last  evening,  for  to  banish  all  dullness 
from  her  father's  life  seems  her  constant  thought.  So  if  you 
wish  to  grow  in  the  young  lady's  favor  don't  be  so  attentive 
to  her  as  to  neglect  the  old  gentleman." 

Graham  listened  to  this  good-natured  gossip  with  decided 
interest,  feeling  that  it  contained  valuable  suggestions.  The 
response  seemed  scarcely  relevant  "When  is  she  to  be  mar 
ried  2"  he  asked. 


WARNING    OR   INCENTIVE?  35 

"Married!" 

"Yes.  It  is  a  wonder  that  such  a  paragon  has  escaped 
thus  long." 

"You  have  lived  abroad  too  much,"  said  his  aunt  satiri 
cally.  "American  girls  are  not  married  out  of  hand  at  a 
certain  age.  They  marry  when  they  please  or  not  at  all  if 
they  please.  Grace  easily  escapes  marriage." 

"Not  from  want  of  suitors,  I'm  sure." 

"You  are  right  there." 

"How  then?" 

"By  saying,  'No,  I  thank  you.'  You  can  easily  learn  how 
very  effectual  such  a  quiet  negative  is,  if  you  choose." 

"Indeed!  Am  I  such  a  very  undesirable  party?"  said 
Graham,  laughing,  for  he  heartily  enjoyed  his  aunt's  brusque 
way  of  talking,  having  learned  already  the  kindliness  it 
masked. 

"Not  in  my  eyes.  I  can't  speak  for  Grace.  She'd  marry 
you  if  she  loved  you,  and  were  you  the  Czar  of  all  the  Russias 
you  wouldn't  have  the  ghost  of  a  chance  unless  she  did.  I 
know  that  she  has  refused  more  than  one  fortune.  She 
seems  perfectly  content  to  live  with  her  father,  until  the  one 
prince  having  the  power  to  awaken  her  appears.  When  he 
comes  rest  assured  she'll  follow  him,  and  also  be  assured  that 
she'll  take  her  father  with  her,  and  to  a  selfish,  exacting  Turk 
of  a  husband  he  might  prove  an  old  man  of  the  sea.  And 
yet  I  doubt  it.  Grace  would  manage  any  one.  Not  that 
she  has  much  management  either.  She  simply  laughs,  smiles, 
and  talks  every  one  into  good  humor.  Her  mirthfulness,  her 
own  happiness,  is  so  genuine  that  it  is  contagious.  Suppose 
you  exchange  duties  and  ask  her  to  come  over  and  enliven  me 
while  you  entertain  her  father,"  concluded  the  old  lady  mis 
chievously. 

"I  would  not  dare  to  face  such  a  fiery  veteran  as  you  have 
described  alone." 

"I  knew  you  would  have  some  excuse.  Well,  be  on  your 
guard.  Grace  will  make  no  effort  to  capture  you,  and  there 
fore  you  will  be  in  all  the  more  danger  of  being  captured.  If 


86  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

you  lose  your  heart  in  vain  to  her  you  will  need  more  than 
German  philosophy  to  sustain  you." 

"I  have  already  made  to  myself  in  substance  your  last 
remark." 

"I  know  you  are  not  a  lady's  man,  and  perhaps  for  that 
very  reason  you  are  all  the  more  liable  to  an  acute  attack." 

Graham  laughed  as  he  rose  from  the  table,  and  asked, 
"Should  I  ever  venture  to  lay  siege  to  Miss  St.  John,  would 
I  not  have  your  blessing  ?" 

"Yes,  and  more  than  my  blessing." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  more  than  your  blessing  ?" 

"I  shall  not  commit  myself  until  you  commit  yourself, 
and  I  do  not  wish  you  to  take  even  the  first  step  without 
appreciating  the  risk  of  the  venture." 

"Why,  bless  you,  aunt,"  said  Graham,  now  laughing 
heartily,  "how  seriously  you  take  it !  I  have  spent  but  one 
evening  with  the  girl." 

The  old  lady  nodded  her  head  significantly  as  she  replied, 
"I  have  not  lived  to  my  time  of  life  without  learning  a  thing 
or  two.  My  memory  also  has  not  failed  as  yet.  There  were 
young  men  who  looked  at  me  once  just  as  you  looked  at  Grace 
last  evening,  and  I  know  what  came  of  it  in  more  than  one 
instance.  You  are  safe  now,  and  you  may  be  invulnerable, 
although  it  does  not  look  like  it ;  but  if  you  can  see  much  of 
Grace  St.  John  and  remain  untouched  you  are  unlike  most 
men." 

"I  have  always  had  the  name  of  being  that,  you  know. 
But  as  the  peril  is  so  great  had  I  not  better  fly  at  once  ?" 

"Yes,  I  think  we  both  have  had  the  name  of  being  a  little 
peculiar,  and  my  brusque,  direct  way  of  coming  right  to  the 
point  is  one  of  my  peculiarities.  I  am  very  intimate  with 
the  St.  Johns,  and  am  almost  as  fond  of  Grace  as  if  she  were 
my  own  child.  So  of  course  you  can  see  a  great  deal  of  her 
if  you  wish,  and  this  arrangement  about  whist  will  add  to 
your  opportunities.  I  know  what  young  men  are,  and  I 
know  too  what  often  happens  when  their  faces  express  as 
much  admiration  and  interest  as  yours  did  last  night.  What's 


WARNING    OR   INCENTIVE  f  37 

more,"  continued  the  energetic  old  lady  with  an  emphatic  tap 
on  the  floor  with  her  foot,  and  a  decided  nod  of  her  head,  "if 
I  were  a  young  man,  Grace  would  have  to  marry  some  one 
else  to  get  rid  of  me.  Now  I've  had  my  say,  and  my  con 
science  is  clear,  whatever  happens.  As  to  flight,  why,  you 
must  settle  that  question,  but  I  am  sincere  and  cordial  in  my 
request  that  you  make  your  home  with  me  until  you  decide 
upon  your  future  course." 

Graham  was  touched,  and  he  took  his  aunt's  hand  as  he 
said,  "I  thank  you  for  your  kindness,  and  more  than  all 
for  your  downright  sincerity.  When  I  came  here  it  was  to 
make  but  a  formal  call.  With  the  exception  of  one  friend, 
I  believed  that  I  stood  utterly  alone  in  the  world — that  no 
one  cared  about  what  I  did  or  what  became  of  me.  I 
was  accustomed  to  isolation  and  thought  I  was  content  with 
it,  but  I  find  it  more  pleasant  than  I  can  make  you  un 
derstand  to  know  there  is  one  place  in  the  world  to  which  I 
can  come,  not  as  a  stranger  to  an  inn,  but  as  one  that  is  re 
ceived  for  other  than  business  considerations.  Since  you 
have  been  so  frank  with  me  I  will  be  equally  outspoken;" 
and  he  told  her  just  how  he  was  situated,  and  what  were  his 
plans  and  hopes.  "Now  that  I  know  there  is  no  necessity 
of  earning  my  livelihood,"  he  concluded,  "I  shall  yield  to  my 
impulse  to  rest  awhile,  and  then  quite  probably  resume  my 
studies  here  or  abroad  until  I  can  obtain  a  position  suited  to 
my  plans  and  taste.  I  thank  you  for  your  note  of  alarm  in 
regard  to  Miss  St.  John,  although  I  must  say  that  to  my  mind 
there  is  more  of  incentive  than  of  warning  in  your  words,  I 
think  I  can  at  least  venture  on  a  few  reconnoissances,  as  the 
major  might  say,  before  I  beat  a  retreat.  Is  it  too  early  to 
make  one  now  ?" 

Mrs.  Mayburn  smiled.     "No,"  she  said,  laconically. 

"I  see  that  you  think  my  reconnoissance  will  lead  to  a 
siege,"  Graham  added.  "Well,  I  can  at  least  promise  that 
there  shall  be  no  rash  movements." 


d8  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS 


CHAPTER     V 

IMPEESSIONS 

GRAHAM,  smiling  at  his  aunt  and  still  more  amused 
at  himself,  started  to  pay  his  morning  visit.  "Yes 
terday  afternoon,"  he  thought,  "I  expected  to  make 
but  a  brief  call  on  an  aunt  who  was  almost  a  stranger  to  me, 
and  now  I  am  domiciled  under  her  roof  indefinitely.  She 
has  introduced  me  to  a  charming  girl,  and  in  an  ostensible 
warning  shrewdly  inserted  the  strongest  incentives  to  venture 
everything,  hinting  at  the  same  time  that  if  I  succeeded  she 
would  give  me  more  than  her  blessing.  What  a  vista  of 
possibilities  has  opened  since  I  crossed  her  threshold!  A 
brief  time  since  I  was  buried  in  German  libraries,  unaware 
of  the  existence  of  Miss  St.  John,  and  forgetting  that  of  my 
aunt.  Apparently  I  have  crossed  the  ocean  to  meet  them 
both,  for  had  I  remained  abroad  a  few  days  longer,  letters  on 
the  way  would  have  prevented  my  returning.  Of  course  it 
is  all  chance,  but  a  curious  chance.  I  don't  wonder  that  peo 
ple  are  often  superstitious;  and  yet  a  moment's  reasoning 
proves  the  absurdity  of  this  sort  of  thing.  Nothing  truly 
strange  often  happens,  and  only  our  egotism  invests  events 
of  personal  interest  with  a  trace  of  the  marvellous.  My  busi 
ness  man  neglected  to  advise  me  of  my  improved  finances  as 
soon  as  he  might  have  done.  My  aunt  receives  me,  not  as 
I  expected,  but  as  one  would  naturally  hope  to  be  met  by  a 
relative.  She  has  a  fair  young  neighbor  with  whom  she  is 
intimate,  and  whom  I  meet  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  as  a 
matter  of  course  I  can  continue  to  meet  her  as  long  as  I  choose 
without  becoming  'all  eye  and  all  memory.'  Surely  a  man 


IMPRESSIONS  39 

can  enjoy  the  society  of  any  woman  without  the  danger  my 
aunt  suggests  and — as  I  half  believe — would  like  to  bring 
about.  What  signify  my  fancies  of  last  evening  ?  We  often 
enjoy  imagining  what  might  be  without  ever  intending  it 
shall  be.  At  any  rate,  I  shall  not  sigh  for  Miss  St.  John  or 
any  other  woman  until  satisfied  that  I  should  not  sigh  in 
vain.  The  probabilities  are  therefore  that  I  shall  never  sigh 
at  all." 

As  he  approached  Major  St.  John's  dwelling  he  saw  the 
object  of  his  thoughts  standing  by  the  window  and  reading 
a  letter.  A  syringa  shrub  partially  concealed  him  and  his 
umbrella,  and  he  could  not  forbear  pausing  a  moment  to  note 
what  a  pretty  picture  she  made.  A  sprig  of  white  flowers 
was  in  her  light  wavy  hair,  and  another  fastened  by  her 
breastpin  drooped  over  her  bosom.  Her  morning  wrapper 
was  of  the  hue  of  the  sky  that  lay  back  of  the  leaden  clouds. 
A  heightened  color  mantled  her  cheeks,  her  lips  were  parted 
with  a  smile,  and  her  whole  face  was  full  of  delighted  interest. 

"By  Jove!"  muttered  Graham.  "Aunt  May  burn  is  half 
right,  I  believe.  A  man  must  have  the  pulse  of  an  anchorite 
to  look  often  at  such  a  vision  as  that  and  remain  untouclied. 
One  might  easily  create  a  divinity  out  of  such  a  creature, 
and  then  find  it  difficult  not  to  worship.  I  could  go  away 
now  and  make  her  my  ideal,  endowing  her  with  all  impossible 
attributes  of  perfection.  Very  probably  fuller  acquaintance 
will  prove  that  she  is  made  of  clay  not  differing  materially 
from  that  of  other  womankind.  I  envy  her  correspondent, 
however,  and  would  be  glad  if  I  could  write  a  letter  that 
would  bring  such  an  expression  to  her  face.  Well,  I  am 
reconnoitring  true  enough,  and  had  better  not  be  detected 
in  the  act ;"  and  he  stepped  rapidly  forward. 

She  recognized  him  with  a  piquant  little  nod  and  smile. 
The  letter  was  folded  instantly,  and  a  moment  later  she 
opened  the  door  for  him  herself,  saying,  "Since  I  have  seen 
you  and  you  have  come  on  so  kind  an  errand  I  have  dispensed 
with  the  formality  of  sending  a  servant  to  admit  you." 


40  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

"Won't  you  shake  hands  as  a  further  reward  ?"  he  asked. 
"You  will  find  me  very  mercenary." 

"Oh,  certainly.  Pardon  the  oversight.  I  should  have 
done  so  without  prompting  since  it  is  so  long  since  we  have 
met." 

"And  having  known  each  other  so  long  also,"  he  added  in 
the  same  light  vein,  conscious  meantime  that  he  held  a  hand 
that  was  as  full  of  vitality  as  it  was  shapely  and  white. 

"Indeed,"  she  replied;  "did  last  evening  seem  an  age  to 
you?" 

"I  tried  to  prolong  it,  for  you  must  remember  that  my 
aunt  said  that  she  could  not  get  me  away ;  and  this  morning 
I  was  indiscreet  enough  to  welcome  the  rain,  at  which  she 
reminded  me  of  her  rheumatism  and  your  father's  wound." 

"And  at  which  I  also  hope  you  had  a  twinge  or  two  of 
conscience.  Papa,"  she  added,  leading  the  way  into  the 
parlor,  "here  is  Mr.  Graham.  It  was  his  fascinating  talk 
about  life  in  Germany  that  so  delayed  me  last  evening." 

The  old  gentleman  started  out  of  a  doze,  and  his  manner 
proved  that  he  welcomed  any  break  in  the  monotony  of  the 
day.  "You  will  pardon  my  not  rising,"  he  said;  "this  con 
founded  weather  is  playing  the  deuce  with  my  leg." 

Graham  was  observant  as  he  joined  in  a  general  con 
demnation  of  the  weather;  and  the  manner  in  which  Miss 
St.  John  rearranged  the  cushion  on  which  her  father's  foot 
rested,  coaxed  the  fire  into  a  more  cheerful  blaze,  and  be 
stowed  other  little  attentions,  proved  beyond  a  doubt  that  all 
effort  in  behalf  of  the  suffering  veteran  would  be  appreciated. 
Nor  was  he  so  devoid  of  a  kindly  good-nature  himself  as  to 
anticipate  an  irksome  task,  and  he  did  his  utmost  to  discover 
the  best  methods  of  entertaining  his  host.  The  effort  soon 
became  remunerative,  for  the  major  had  seen  much  of  life, 
and  enjoyed  reference  to  his  experiences.  Graham  found 
that  he  could  be  induced  to  fight  his  battles  over  again,  but 
always  with  very  modest  allusion  to  himself.  In  the  course 
of  their  talk  it  also  became  evident  that  he  was  a  man  of 
somewhat  extensive  reading,  and  the  daily  paper  must  have 


IMPRESSIONS  41 

been  almost  literally  devoured  to  account  for  his  acquaintance 
with  contemporary  affairs.  The  daughter  was  often  not  a 
little  amused  at  Graham's  blank  looks  as  her  father  broached 
topics  of  American  interest  which  to  the  student  from  abroad 
were  as  little  known  or  understood  as  the  questions  which 
might  have  been  agitating  the  inhabitants  of  Jupiter.  Most 
ladies  would  have  been  politely  oblivious  of  her  guest's  blun 
ders  and  infelicitous  remarks,  but  Miss  St.  John  had  a  frank, 
merry  way  of  recognizing  them,  and  yet  malice  and  ridicule 
were  so  entirely  absent  from  her  words  and  ways  that  Gra 
ham  soon  positively  enjoyed  being  laughed  at,  and  much  pre 
ferred  her  delicate  open  raillery,  which  gave  him  a  chance  to 
defend  himself,  to  a  smiling  mask  that  would  leave  him  in 
uncertainty  as  to  the  fitness  of  his  replies.  There  was  a 
subtle  flattery  also  in  this  course,  for  she  treated  him  as  one 
capable  of  holding  his  own,  and  not  in  need  of  social  charity 
and  protection.  With  pleasure  he  recognized  that  she  was 
adopting  toward  him  something  of  the  same  sportive  man 
ner  which  characterized  her  relations  with  his  aunt,  and 
which  also  indicated  that  as  Mrs.  Mayburn's  nephew  he  had 
met  with  a  reception  which  would  not  have  been  accorded  to 
one  less  favorably  introduced. 

How  vividly  in  after  years  Graham  remembered  that 
rainy  May  morning!  He  could  always  call  up  before  him, 
like  a  vivid  picture,  the  old  major  with  his  bushy  white  eye 
brows  and  piercing  black  eyes,  the  smoke  from  his  meerschaum 
creating  a  sort  of  halo  around  his  gray  head,  the  fine,  vener 
able  face  often  drawn  by  pain  which  led  to  half-muttered 
imprecations  that  courtesy  to  his  guest  and  daughter  could 
not  wholly  suppress.  How  often  he  saw  again  the  fire  curl 
ing  softly  from  the  hearth  with  a  contented  crackle,  as  if 
pleased  to  be  once  more  an  essential  to  the  home  from  which 
the  advancing  summer  would  soon  banish  it!  He  could 
recall  every  article  of  the  furniture  with  which  he  afterward 
became  so  familiar.  But  that  which  was  engraven  on  his 
memory  forever  was  a  fair  young  girl  sitting  by  the  window 
with  a  background  of  early  spring  greenery  swaying  to  and 


42  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

fro  in  the  storm.  Long  afterward,  when  watching  on  the 
perilous  picket  line  or  standing  in  his  place  on  the  battle 
field,  he  would  close  his  eyes  that  he  might  recall  more  vividly 
the  little  white  hands  deftly  crocheting  on  some  feminine 
mystery,  and  the  mirthful  eyes  that  often  glanced  from  it  to 
him  as  the  quiet  flow  of  their  talk  rippled  on.  A  rill,  had 
it  conscious  life,  would  never  forget  the  pebble  that  deflected 
its  course  from  one  ocean  to  another;  human  life  as  it  flows 
onward  cannot  fail  to  recognize  events,  trivial  in  themselves, 
which  nevertheless  gave  direction  to  all  the  future. 

Graham  admitted  to  himself  that  he  had  found  a  charm 
at  this  fireside  which  he  had  never  enjoyed  elsewhere  in  so 
ciety — the  pleasure  of  being  perfectly  at  ease.  There  was 
a  genial  frankness  and  simplicity  in  his  entertainers  which 
banished  restraint,  and  gave  him  a  sense  of  security.  He 
felt  instinctively  that  there  were  no  adverse  currents  of  men 
tal  criticism  and  detraction,  that  they  were  loyal  to  him  as 
their  invited  guest,  notwithstanding  jest,  banter,  and  good- 
natured  satire. 

The  hours  had  vanished  so  swiftly  that  he  was  at  a  loss 
to  account  for  them.  Miss  St.  John  was  a  natural  foe  to  dul- 
ness  of  all  kinds,  and  this  too  without  any  apparent  effort. 
Indeed,  we  are  rarely  entertained  by  evident  and  deliberate 
exertion.  Pleasurable  exhilaration  in  society  is  obtained 
from  those  who  impart,  like  warmth,  their  own  spontaneous 
vivacity.  Miss  St.  John's  smile  was  an  antidote  for  a  rainy 
day,  and  he  was  loath  to  pass  from  its  genial  power  out  under 
the  dripping  clouds.  Following  an  impulse,  he  said  to  the 
girl,  "You  are  more  than  a  match  for  the  weather." 

These  words  were  spoken  in  the  hall  after  he  had  bidden 
adieu  to  the  major. 

"If  you  meant  a  compliment  it  is  a  very  doubtful  one," 
she  replied,  laughing.  "Do  you  mean  that  I  am  worse  than 
the  weather  which  gives  papa  the  horrors,  and  Mrs.  Mayburn 
the  rheumatism?" 

"And  me  one  of  the  most  delightful  mornings  I  ever  en 
joyed,"  he  added,  interrupting  her.  "You  were  in  league 


IMPRESSIONS  48 

with  your  wood  fire.  The  garish  sunshine  of  a  warm  day 
robs  a  house  of  all  cosiness  and  snugness.  Instead  of  being 
depressed  by  the  storm  and  permitting  others  to  be  dull,  you 
have  the  art  of  making  the  clouds  your  foil." 

"Possibly  I  may  appear  to  some  advantage  against  such  a 
dismal  background,"  she  admitted. 

"My  meaning  is  interpreted  by  my  unconscionably  long 
visit.  I  now  must  reluctantly  retreat  into  the  dismal  back 
ground." 

"A  rather  well-covered  retreat,  as  papa  might  say,  but  you 
will  need  your  umbrella  all  the  same ;"  for  he,  in  looking  back 
at  the  archly  smiling  girl,  had  neglected  to  open  it. 

"I  am  glad  it  is  not  a  final  retreat,"  he  called  back.  "I 
shall  return  this  evening  reinforced  by  my  aunt." 

"Well,"  exclaimed  that  lady  when  he  appeared  before  her, 
"lunch  has  been  waiting  ten  minutes  or  more." 

"I  feared  as  much,"  he  replied,  shaking  his  head  ruefully. 

"What  kept  you?" 

"Miss  St.  John." 

"Not  the  major  ?     I  thought  you  went  to  entertain  him  ?" 

"So  I  did,  but  man  proposes — " 

"Oh,  not  yet,  I  hope,"  cried  the  old  lady  with  assumed 
dismay.  "I  thought  you  promised  to  do  nothing  rash." 

"You  are  more  precipitate  than  I  have  been.  All  that 
I  propose  is  to  enjoy  my  vacation  and  the  society  of  your 
charming  friend." 

"The  major  ?"  she  suggested. 

"A  natural  error  on  your  part,  for  I  perceived  he  was 
very  gallant  to  you.  After  your  remarks,  however,  you  can 
not  think  it  strange  that  I  found  the  daughter  more  interest 
ing — so  interesting  indeed  that  I  have  kept  you  waiting  for 
lunch.  I'll  not  repeat  the  offence  any  oftener  than  I  can 
help.  At  the  same  time  I  find  that  I  have  not  lost  my  appe 
tite,  or  anything  else  that  I  am  aware  of." 

"How  did  Grace  appear  ?"  his  aunt  asked  as  they  sat  down 
to  lunch. 

"Like  myself." 


44  HIS  SOMBRE   RIVALS 

"Then  not  like  any  one  else  you  know  ?" 

"We  agree  here  perfectly." 

"You  have  no  fear  ?" 

"No,  nor  any  hopes  that  I  am  conscious  of.  Can  I  not 
admire  your  paragon  to  your  heart's  content  without  insist 
ing  that  she  bestow  upon  me  the  treasures  of  her  life  ?  Miss 
St.  John  has  a  frank,  cordial  manner  all  her  own,  and  I  think 
also  that  for  your  sake  she  has  received  me  rather  graciously, 
but  I  should  be  blind  indeed  did  I  not  recognize  that  it  would 
require  a  siege  to  win  her ;  and  that  would  be  useless,  as  you 
said,  unless  her  own  heart  prompted  the  surrender.  I  have 
heard  and  read  that  many  women  are  capable  of  passing 
fancies  of  which  adroit  suitors  can  take  advantage,  and  they 
are  engaged  or  married  before  fully  comprehending  what  it 
all  means.  Were  Miss  St.  John  of  this  class  I  should  still 
hesitate  to  venture,  for  nothing  in  my  training  has  fitted  me 
to  take  an  advantage  of  a  lady's  mood.  I  don't  think  your 
favorite  is  given  to  fancies.  She  is  too  well  poised.  Her 
serene,  laughing  confidence,  her  more  than  content,  comes 
either  from  a  heart  already  happily  given,  or  else  from  a 
nature  so  sound  and  healthful  that  life  in  itself  is  an  unal 
loyed  joy.  She  impresses  me  as  the  happiest  being  I  ever 
met,  and  as  such  it  is  a  delight  to  be  in  her  presence ;  but  if 
I  should  approach  her  as  a  lover,  something  tells  me  that  I 
should  find  her  like  a  snowy  peak,  warm  and  rose-tinted  in 
the  sunlight,  as  seen  in  the  distance,  but  growing  cold  as  you 
draw  near.  There  may  be  subterranean  fires,  but  they  would 
manifest  themselves  from  some  inward  impulse.  At  least 
I  do  not  feel  conscious  of  any  power  to  awaken  them." 

Mrs.  Mayburn  shook  her  head  ominously. 

"You  are  growing  very  fanciful,"  she  said,  "which  is  a 
sign,  if  not  a  bad  one.  Your  metaphors,  too,  are  so  far 
fetched  and  extravagant  as  to  indicate  the  earliest  stages  of 
the  divine  madness.  Do  you  mean  to  suggest  that  Grace  will 
break  forth  like  a  volcano  on  some  fortuitous  man  ?  If  that 
be  your  theory  you  would  stand  as  good  a  chance  as  any  one. 
She  might  break  forth  on  you." 


IMPRESSIONS  4o 

"I  have  indeed  been  unfortunate  in  my  illustration,  since 
you  can  so  twist  my  words  even  in  jest.  Here's  plain  enough 
prose  for  you.  No  amount  of  wooing  would  make  the  slight 
est  difference  unless  by  some  law  or  impulse  of  her  own  nature 
Miss  St.  John  was  compelled  to  respond." 

"Isn't  that  true  of  every  woman?" 

"I  don't  think  it  is." 

"How  is  it  that  you  are  so  versed  in  the  mysteries  of  the 
feminine  soul  ?" 

"I  have  not  lived  altogether  the  life  of  a  monk,  and  the 
history  of  the  world  is  the  history  of  women  as  well  as  of 
men.  I  am  merely  giving  the  impression  that  has  been  made 
upon  me." 


46  HIS  SOMBRE   RIVALS 


CHAPTER    VI 

PHILOSOPHY   AT    FAULT 

IF  Mrs.  Mayburn  had  fears  that  her  nephew's  peace  would 
be  affected  by  his  exposure  to  the  fascinations  of  Miss  St. 
John,  they  were  quite  allayed  by  his  course  for  the  next 
two  or  three  weeks.  If  she  had  indulged  the  hope  that  he 
would  speedily  be  carried  away  by  the  charms  which  seemed 
to  her  irresistible,  and  so  give  the  chance  of  a  closer  relation 
ship  with  her  favorite,  she  saw  little  to  encourage  such  a 
hope  beyond  Graham's  evident  enjoyment  in  the  young  girl's 
society,  and  his  readiness  to  seek  it  on  all  fitting  occasions. 
He  played  whist  assiduously,  and  appeared  to  enjoy  the  game. 
He  often  spent  two  or  three  hours  with  the  major  during  the 
day,  and  occasionally  beguiled  the  time  by  reading  aloud  to 
him,  but  the  element  of  gallantry  toward  the  daughter  seemed 
wanting,  and  the  aunt  concluded,  "No  woman  can  rival  a  book 
in  Alford's  heart — that  is,  if  he  has  one — and  he  is  simply 
studying  Grace  as  if  she  were  a  book.  There  is  one  symp 
tom,  however,  that  needs  explanation — he  is  not  so  ready 
to  talk  about  her  as  at  first,  and  I  don't  believe  that  indiffer 
ence  is  the  cause." 

She  was  right :  indifference  was  not  the  cause.  Graham's 
interest  in  Miss  St.  John  was  growing  deeper  every  day,  but 
the  stronger  the  hold  she  gained  upon  his  thoughts,  the  less 
inclined  was  he  to  speak  of  her.  He  was  the  last  man  in 
the  world  to  be  carried  away  by  a  Romeo-like  gust  of  passion, 
and  no  amount  of  beauty  could  hold  his  attention  an  hour, 
did  not  the  mind  ray  through  it  with  a  sparkle  and  power 
essentially  its  own. 


PHILOSOPHY  AT  FAULT  47 

Miss  St.  John  had  soon  convinced  him  that  she  could  do 
more  than  look  sweetly  and  chatter.  She  could  not  only 
talk  to  a  university-bred  man,  but  also  tell  him  much  that 
was  new.  He  found  his  peer,  not  in  his  lines  of  thought, 
but  in  her  own,  and  he  was  so  little  of  an  egotist  that  he  ad 
mired  her  all  the  more  because  she  knew  what  he  did  not, 
and  could  never  become  an  echo  of  himself.  In  her  world 
she  had  been  an  intelligent  observer  and  thinker,  and  she  in 
terpreted  that  world  to  him  as  naturally  and  unassumingly 
as  a  flower  blooms  and  exhales  its  fragrance.  For  the  first 
time  in  his  life  he  gave  himself  up  to  the  charm  of  a  culti 
vated  woman's  society,  and  to  do  this  in  his  present  leisure 
seemed  the  most  sensible  thing  possible. 

"One  can  see  a  rare  flower,"  he  had  reasoned,  "without 
wishing  to  pluck  it,  or  hear  a  wood-thrush  sing  without 
straightway  thinking  of  a  cage.  Miss  St.  John's  affections 
may  be  already  engaged,  or  I  may  be  the  last  person  in  the 
world  to  secure  them.  Idle  fancies  of  what  she  might  become 
to  me  are  harmless  enough.  Any  man  is  prone  to  indulge  in 
these  when  seeing  a  woman  who  pleases  his  taste  and  kindles 
his  imagination.  When  it  comes  to  practical  action  one  may 
expect  and  desire  nothing  more  than  the  brightening  of  one's 
wits  and  the  securing  of  agreeable  pastime.  I  do  not  see 
why  I  should  not  be  entirely  content  with  these  motives,  until 
my  brief  visit  is  over,  notwithstanding  my  aunt's  ominous 
warnings;"  and  so  without  any  misgivings  he  had  at  first 
yielded  himself  to  all  the  spells  that  Miss  St.  John  might 
unconsciously  weave. 

As  time  passed,  however,  he  began  to  doubt  whether  he 
could  maintain  his  cool,  philosophic  attitude  of  enjoyment. 
He  found  himself  growing  more  and  more  eager  for  the 
hours  to  return  when  he  could  seek  her  society,  and  the  in 
tervening  time  was  becoming  dull  and  heavy-paced.  The 
impulse  to  go  back  to  Germany  and  to  resume  his  studies  was 
slow  in  coming.  Indeed,  he  was  at  last  obliged  to  admit  to 
himself  that  a  game  of  whist  with  the  old  major  had  more 
attractions  than  the  latest  scientific  treatise.  Kot  that  he 


48  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

doted  on  the  irascible  veteran,  but  because  he  thus  secured 
a  fair  partner  whose  dark  eyes  were  beaming  with  mirth  and 
intelligence,  whose  ever-springing  fountain  of  happiness  was 
so  full  that  even  in  the  solemnity  of  the  game  it  found  ex 
pression  in  little  piquant  gestures,  brief  words,  and  smiles 
that  were  like  glints  of  sunshine.  Her  very  presence  lifted 
him  to  a  higher  plane,  and  gave  a  greater  capacity  for  en 
joyment,  and  sometimes  simply  an  arch  smile  or  an  unex 
pected  tone  set  his  nerves  vibrating  in  a  manner  as  delight 
ful  as  it  was  unexplainable  by  any  past  experience  that  he 
could  recall.  She  was  a  good  walker  and  horsewoman,  and 
as  their  acquaintance  ripened  he  began  to  ask  permission 
to  join  her  in  her  rides  and  rambles.  She  assented  without 
the  slightest  hesitancy,  but  he  soon  found  that  she  gave  him 
no  exclusive  monopoly  of  these  excursions,  and  that  he  must 
share  them  with  other  young  men.  Her  absences  from  home 
were  always  comparatively  brief,  however,  and  that  which 
charmed  him  most  was  her  sunny  devotion  to  her  invalid 
and  often  very  irritable  father.  She  was  the  antidote  to  his 
age  and  to  his  infirmities  of  body  and  temper.  While  she 
was  away  the  world  in  general,  and  his  own  little  sphere  in 
particular,  tended  toward  a  hopeless  snarl.  Jinny,  the  col 
ored  servant,  was  subserviency  itself,  but  her  very  obsequi 
ousness  irritated  him,  although  her  drollery  was  at  times 
diverting.  It  was  usually  true,  however,  that  but  one  touch 
and  one  voice  could  soothe  the  jangling  nerves.  As  Graham 
saw  this  womanly  magic,  which  apparently  cost  no  more  effort 
than  the  wood  fire  put  forth  in  banishing  chilliness  and  dis 
comfort,  the  thought  would  come,  "Blessed  will  be  the  man 
who  can  win  her  as  the  light  and  life  of  his  home !" 

When  days  passed,  and  no  one  seemed  to  have  a  greater 
place  in  her  thoughts  and  interest  than  himself,  was  it  un 
natural  that  the  hope  should  dawn  that  she  might  create  a 
home  for  him  ?  If  she  had  a  favored  suitor  his  aunt  would 
be  apt  to  know  of  it.  She  did  not  seem  ambitious,  or  disposed 
to  invest  her  heart  so  that  it  might  bring  fortune  and  social 
eminence.  Never  by  word  or  sign  had  she  appeared  to  chafe 


PHILOSOPHY  AT  FAULT  49 

at  her  father's  modest  competency,  but  with  tact  and  skill, 
taught  undoubtedly  by  army  experience,  she  made  their  slen 
der  income  yield  the  essentials  of  comfort  and  refinement, 
and  seemed  quite  indifferent  to  non-essentials.  Graham  could 
never  hope  to  possess  wealth,  but  he  found  in  Miss  St.  John 
a  woman  who  could  impart  to  his  home  the  crowning  grace 
of  wealth — simple,  unostentatious  elegance.  His  aunt  had 
said  that  the  young  girl  had  already  refused  more  than  one 
fortune,  and  the  accompanying  assurance  that  she  would 
marry  the  man  she  loved,  whatever  might  be  his  circum 
stances,  seemed  verified  by  his  own  observation.  Therefore 
why  might  he  not  hope  ?  Few  men  are  so  modest  as  not  to 
indulge  the  hope  to  which  their  heart  prompts  them.  Gra 
ham  was  slow  to  recognize  the  existence  of  this  hope,  and  then 
he  watched  its  growth  warily.  Not  for  the  world  would  he 
lose  control  of  himself,  not  for  the  world  would  he  reveal 
it  to  any  one,  least  of  all  to  his  aunt  or  to  her  who  had  in 
spired  it,  unless  he  had  some  reason  to  believe  she  would  not 
disappoint  it.  He  was  prompted  to  concealment,  not  only 
by  his  pride,  which  was  great,  but  more  by  a  characteristic 
trait,  an  instinctive  desire  to  hide  his  deeper  feelings,  his 
inner  personality  from  all  others.  He  would  not  admit  that 
he  had  fallen  in  love.  The  very  phrase  was  excessively  dis 
tasteful.  To  his  friend  Hilland  he  might  have  given  his 
confidence,  and  he  would  have  accounted  for  himself  in  some 
such  way  as  this : — 

"I  have  found  a  child  and  a  woman ;  a  child  in  frankness 
and  joyousness,  a  woman  in  beauty,  strength,  mental  matur 
ity,  and  unselfishness.  She  interested  me  from  the  first, 
and  every  day  I  know  better  the  reason  why — because  she  is 
interesting.  My  reason  has  kept  pace  with  my  fancy  and 
my  deeper  feeling,  and  impels  me  to  seek  this  girl  quite  as 
much  as  does  my  heart.  I  do  not  think  a  man  meets  such 
a  woman  OT  such  a  chance  for  happiness  twice  in  a  lifetime. 
I  did  not  believe  there  was  such  a  woman  in  the  world.  You 
may  laugh  and  say  that  is  the  way  all  lovers  talk.  I  answer 
emphatically,  No.  I  have  not  yet  lost  my  poise,  and  I  never 
C— ROE— XIII 


60  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

was  a  predestined  lover.  I  might  easily  have  gone  through 
life  and  never  given  to  these  subjects  an  hour's  thought. 
Even  now  I  could  quietly  decide  to  go  away  and  take  up  my 
old  life  as  I  left  it.  But  why  should  I  ?  Here  is  an  oppor 
tunity  to  enrich  existence  immeasurably,  and  to  add  to  all 
my  chances  of  success  and  power.  So  far  from  being  a  drag 
upon  one,  a  woman  like  Miss  St.  John  would  incite  and  in 
spire  a  man  to  his  best  efforts.  She  would  sympathize  with 
him  because  she  could  understand  his  aims  and  keep  pace 
with  his  mental  advance.  Granted  that  my  prospects  of 
winning  her  are  doubtful  indeed,  still  as  far  as  I  can  see 
there  is  a  chance.  I  would  not  care  a  straw  for  a  woman 
that  I  could  have  for  the  asking — who  would  take  me  as  a 
dernier  ressort.  Any  woman  that  I  would  marry,  many  oth 
ers  would  gladly  marry  also,  and  I  must  take  my  chance  of 
winning  her  from  them.  Such  would  be  my  lot  under  any 
circumstances,  and  if  I  give  way  to  a  faint  heart  now  I  may 
as  well  give  up  altogether  and  content  myself  with  a  library 
as  a  bride." 

Since  he  felt  that  he  might  have  taken  Hilland  into  his 
confidence,  he  had,  in  terms  substantially  the  same  as  those 
given,  imagined  his  explanation,  and  he  smiled  as  he  por 
trayed  to  himself  his  friend's  jocular  response,  which  would 
have  nevertheless  its  substratum  of  true  sympathy.  "Hilland 
would  say,"  he  thought,  "  "That  is  just  like  you,  Graham. 
You  can't  smoke  a  cigar  or  make  love  to  a  girl  without  ana 
lyzing  and  philosophizing  and  arranging  all  the  wisdom  of 
Solomon  in  favor  of  your  course.  Now  I  would  make  love 
to  a  girl  because  I  loved  her,  and  that  would  be  the  end  on't.' ' 

Graham  was  mistaken  in  this  case.  ~Not  in  laughing 
sympathy,  but  in  pale  dismay,  would  Hilland  have  re 
ceived  this  revelation,  for  he  was  making  love  to  Grace  St. 
John  because  he  loved  her  with  all  his  heart  and  soul.  There 
had  been  a  time  when  Graham  might  have  obtained  a  hint 
of  this  had  circumstances  been  different,  and  it  had  occurred 
quite  early  in  his  acquaintance  with  Miss  St.  John.  After 
a  day  that  had  been  unusually  delightful  and  satisfactory 


PHILOSOPHY   AT  FAULT  51 

he  was  accompanying  the  young  girl  home  from  his  aunt's 
cottage  in  the  twilight.  Out  of  the  complacency  of  his  heart 
he  remarked,  half  to  himself,  "If  Hilland  were  only  here,  my 
vacation  would  be  complete." 

In  the  obscurity  he  could  not  see  her  sudden  burning  flush, 
and  since  her  hand  was  not  on  his  arm  he  had  no  knowledge 
of  her  startled  tremor.  All  that  he  knew  was  that  she  was 
silent  for  a  moment  or  two,  and  then  she  asked  quietly,  "Is 
Mr.  Warren  Hilland  an  acquaintance  of  yours  ?" 

"Indeed  he  is  not/'  was  the  emphatic  and  hearty  re 
sponse.  "He  is  the  best  friend  I  have  in  the  world,  and  the 
best  fellow  in  the  world." 

Oh,  fatal  obscurity  of  the  deepening  twilight!  Miss  St. 
John's  face  was  crimson  and  radiant  with  pleasure,  and  could 
Graham  have  seen  her  at  that  moment  he  could  not  have 
failed  to  surmise  the  truth. 

The  young  girl  was  as  jealous  of  her  secret  as  Graham 
soon  became  of  his,  and  she  only  remarked  demurely,  "I 
have  met  Mr.  Hilland  in  society,"  and  then  she  changed  the 
subject,  for  they  were  approaching  the  piazza,  steps,  and  she 
felt  that  if  Hilland  should  continue  the  theme  of  conversa 
tion  under  the  light  of  the  chandelier,  a  telltale  face  and 
manner  would  betray  her,  in  spite  of  all  effort  at  control.  A 
fragrant  blossom  from  the  shrubbery  bordering  the  walk 
brushed  against  Graham's  face,  and  he  plucked  it,  saying, 
"Beyond  that  it  is  fragrant  I  don't  know  what  this  flower  is. 
Will  you  take  it  from  me  2" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  hesitatingly,  for  at  that  moment  her 
absent  lover  had  been  brought  so  vividly  to  her  consciousness 
that  her  heart  recoiled  from  even  the  slightest  hint  of  gallan 
try  from  another.  A  moment  later  the  thought  occurred, 
"Mr.  Graham  is  his  dearest  friend ;  therefore  he  is  my  friend, 
although  I  cannot  yet  be  as  frank  with  him  as  I  would  like 
to  be." 

She  paused  a  few  moments  on  the  piazza,  to  cool  her  hot 
face  and  quiet  her  fluttering  nerves,  and  Graham  saw  with 
much  pleasure  that  she  fastened  the  flower  to  her  breastpin. 


52  BIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

When  at  last  she  entered  she  puzzled  him  a  little  by  leaving 
him  rather  abruptly  at  the  parlor  door  and  hastening  up 
the  stairs. 

She  found  that  his  words  had  stirred  such  deep,  full 
fountains  that  she  could  not  yet  trust  herself  under  his  ob 
servant  eyes.  It  is  a  woman's  delight  to  hear  her  lover 
praised  by  other  men,  and  Graham's  words  had  been  so 
hearty  that  they  had  set  her  pulses  bounding,  for  they  as 
sured  her  that  she  had  not  been  deceived  by  love's  partial 
eyes. 

"It's  true,  it's  true,"  she  murmured,  softly,  standing  with 
dewy  eyes  before  her  mirror.  "He  is  the  best  fellow  in  the 
world,  and  I  was  blind  that  I  did  not  see  it  from  the  first. 
But  all  will  yet  be  well;"  and  she  drew  a  letter  from  her 
bosom  and  kissed  it. 

Happy  would  Hilland  have  been  had  he  seen  the  vision 
reflected  by  that  mirror — beauty,  rich  and  rare  in  itself,  but 
enhanced,  illumined,  and  made  divine  by  the  deepest,  strong 
est,  purest  emotions  of  the  soul. 


WARREN   HILL  AND  6'6 


CHAPTER   YII 

WAEEEN     HILLAND 

TEE  closing  scenes  of  the  preceding  chapter  demand 
some  explanation.  Major  St.  John  had  spent  part 
of  the  preceding  summer  at  a  seaside  resort,  and  his 
daughter  had  inevitably  attracted  not  a  little  attention. 
Among  those  that  sought  her  favor  was  Warren  Hilland, 
and  in  accordance  with  his  nature  he  had  been  rather  pre 
cipitate.  He  was  ardent,  impulsive,  and,  indulged  from  ear 
liest  childhood,  he  had  been  spoiled  in  only  one  respect — 
when  he  wanted  anything  he  wanted  it  with  all  his  heart  and 
immediately.  Miss  St.  John  had  seemed  to  him  from  the 
first  a  pearl  among  women.  As  with  Graham,  circumstances 
gave  him  the  opportunity  of  seeing  her  daily,  and  he  speedily 
succumbed  to  the  "visitation  of  that  power"  to  which  the 
strongest  must  yield.  Almost  before  the  young  girl  sus 
pected  the  existence  of  his  passion,  he  declared  it.  She  re 
fused  him,  but  he  would  take  no  refusal.  Having  won  from 
her  the  admission  that  he  had  no  favored  rival,  he  lifted  his 
handsome  head  with  a  resolution  which  she  secretly  admired, 
and  declared  that  only  when  convinced  that  he  had  become 
hateful  to  her  would  he  give  up  his  suit. 

He  was  not  a  man  to  become  hateful  to  any  woman.  His 
frank  nature  was  so  in  accord  with  hers  that  she  responded 
in  somewhat  the  same  spirit,  and  said,  half  laughingly  and 
half  tearfully,  "Well,  if  you  will,  you  will,  but  I  can  offer  no 
encouragement. " 

And  yet  his  downright  earnestness  had  agitated  her 
deeply,  disturbing  her  maiden  serenity,  and  awaking  for 


54 

the  first  time  the  woman  within  her  heart.  Hitherto  her 
girlhood's  fancies  had  been  like  summer  zephyrs,  disturbing 
but  briefly  the  still,  clear  waters  of  her  soul;  but  now  she 
became  an  enigma  to  herself  as  she  slowly  grew  conscious  of 
her  own  heart  and  the  law  of  her  woman's  nature  to  love 
and  give  herself  to  another.  But  she  had  too  much  of  the 
doughty  old  major's  fire  and  spirit,  and  was  too  fond  of 
her  freedom,  to  surrender  easily.  Both  Graham  and  Mrs. 
Mayburn  were  right  in  their  estimate — she  would  never  yield 
her  heart  unless  compelled  to  by  influences  unexpected,  at 
first  unwelcomed,  but  in  the  end  overmastering. 

The  first  and  chief  effect  of  Hilland's  impetuous  wooing 
was,  as  we  have  seen,  to  destroy  her  sense  of  maidenly  secur 
ity,  and  to  bring  her  face  to  face  with  her  destiny.  Then  his 
openly  avowed  siege  speedily  compelled  her  to  withdraw  her 
thoughts  from  man  in  the  abstract  to  himself.  She  could 
not  brush  him  aside  by  a  quiet  negative,  as  she  had  already 
done  in  the  case  of  several  others.  Clinging  to  her  old  life, 
however,  and  fearing  to  embark  on  this  unknown  sea  of  new 
experiences,  she  hesitated,  and  would  not  commit  herself  until 
the  force  that  impelled  was  greater  than  that  which  re 
strained.  He  at  last  had  the  tact  to  understand  her  and  to 
recognize  that  he  had  spoken  to  a  girl,  indeed  almost  a  child, 
and  that  he  must  wait  for  the  woman  to  develop.  Hopeful, 
almost  confident,  for  success  and  prosperity  had  seemingly 
made  a  league  with  him  in  all  things,  he  was  content  to  wait. 
The  major  had  sanctioned  his  addresses  from  the  first,  and  he 
sought  to  attain  his  object  by  careful  and  skilful  approaches. 
He  had  shown  himself  such  an  impetuous  wooer  that  she 
might  well  doubt  his  persistence;  now  he  would  prove  him 
self  so  patient  and  considerate  that  she  could  not  doubt  him. 

When  they  parted  at  the  seaside  Hilland  was  called  to 
the  far  West  by  important  business  interests.  In  response  to 
his  earnest  pleas,  in  which  he  movingly  portrayed  his  loneli 
ness  in  a  rude  mining  village,  she  said  he  might  write  to  her 
occasionally,  and  he  had  written  so  quietly  and  sensibly,  so 
nearly  as  a  friend  might  address  a  friend,  that  she  felt  there 


WARREN    HILL  AND  55 

could  be  no  harm  in  a  correspondence  of  this  character. 
During  the  winter  season  their  letters  had  grown  more  fre 
quent,  and  he  with  consummate  skill  had  gradually  tinged 
his  words  with  a  warmer  hue.  She  smiled  at  his  artifice. 
There  was  no  longer  any  need  of  it,  for  by  the  wood  fire,  when 
all  the  house  was  still  and  wrapped  in  sleep,  she  had  become 
fully  revealed  unto  herself.  She  found  that  she  had  a 
woman's  heart,  and  that  she  had  given  it  irrevocably  to 
Warren  Hilland. 

She  did  not  tell  him  so — far  from  it.  The  secret  seemed 
so  strange,  so  wonderful,  so  exquisite  in  its  blending  of  pain 
and  pleasure,  that  she  did  not  tell  any  one.  Hers  was  not 
the  nature  that  could  babble  of  the  heart's  deepest  mysteries 
to  half  a  score  of  confidants.  To  him  first  she  would  make 
the  supreme  avowal  that  she  had  become  his  by  a  sweet  com 
pulsion  that  had  at  last  proved  irresistible,  and  even  he  must 
again  seek  that  acknowledgment  directly,  earnestly.  He 
was  left  to  gather  what  hope  he  could  from  the  fact  that  she 
did  not  resent  his  warmer  expressions,  and  this  leniency  from 
a  girl  like  Grace  St.  John  meant  so  much  to  him  that  he  did 
gather  hope  daily.  Her  letters  were  not  nearly  so  frequent 
as  his,  but  when  they  did  come  he  fairly  gloated  over  them. 
They  were  so  fresh,  crisp  and  inspiring  that  they  reminded 
him  of  the  seaside  breezes  that  had  quickened  his  pulses  with 
health  and  pleasure  during  the  past  summer.  She  wrote  in 
an  easy,  gossiping  style  of  the  books  she  was  reading;  of  the 
good  things  in  the  art  and  literary  journals,  and  of  such  ques 
tions  of  the  day  as  would  naturally  interest  her,  and  he  so 
gratefully  assured  her  that  by  this  course  she  kept  him 
within  the  pale  of  civilization,  that  she  was  induced  to 
write  oftener.  In  her  effort  to  gather  material  that  would 
interest  him,  life  gained  a  new  and  richer  zest,  and  she 
learned  how  the  kindling  flame  within  her  heart  could  illu 
mine  even  common  things.  Each  day  brought  such  a  wealth 
of  joy  that  it  was  like  a  new  and  glad  surprise.  The  page 
she  read  had  not  only  the  interest  imparted  to  it  by  the 
author,  but  also  the  far  greater  charm  of  suggesting  thoughts 


56  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

of  him  or  for  him ;  and  so  began  an  interchange  of  books  and 
periodicals,  with  pencillings,  queries,  marks  of  approval  and 
disapproval.  "I  will  show  him,"  she  had  resolved,  "that  I 
am  not  a  doll  to  be  petted,  but  a  woman  who  can  be  his  friend 
and  companion." 

And  she  proved  this  quite  as  truly  by  her  questions,  her 
intelligent  interest  in  his  mining  pursuits  and  the  wild  re 
gion  of  his  sojourn,  as  by  her  words  concerning  that  with 
which  she  was  familiar. 

It  was  hard  for  Hilland  to  maintain  his  reticence  or 
submit  to  the  necessity  of  his  long  absence.  She  had  re 
vealed  the  rich  jewel  of  her  mind  so  fully  that  his  love  had 
increased  with  time  and  separation,  and  he  longed  to  obtain 
the  complete  assurance  of  his  happiness.  And  yet  not  for  the 
world  would  he  again  endanger  his  hopes  by  rashness.  He 
ventured,  however,  to  send  the  copy  of  Emerson  with  the 
quotation  already  given  strongly  underscored.  Since  she 
made  no  allusion  to  this  in  her  subsequent  letter,  he  again 
grew  more  wary,  but  as  spring  advanced  the  tide  of  feeling 
became  too  strong  to  be  wholly  repressed,  and  words  indicat 
ing  his  passion  would  slip  into  his  letters  in  spite  of  himself. 
She  saw  what  was  coming  as  truly  as  she  saw  all  around  her 
the  increasing  evidences  of  the  approach  of  summer,  and  no 
bird  sang  with  a  fuller  or  more  joyous  note  than  did  her 
heart  at  the  prospect. 

Graham  witnessed  this  culminating  happiness,  and  it 
would  have  been  well  for  him  had  he  known  its  source.  Her 
joyousness  had  seemed  to  him  a  characteristic  trait,  and  so  it 
was,  but  he  could  not  know  how  greatly  it  was  enhanced  by 
a  cause  that  would  have  led  to  very  different  action  on  his 
part. 

Hilland  had  decided  that  he  would  not  write  to  his  friend 
concerning  his  suit  until  his  fate  was  decided  in  one  way  or 
the  other.  In  fact,  his  letters  had  grown  rather  infrequent, 
not  from  waning  friendship,  but  rather  because  their  mutual 
interests  had  drifted  apart.  Their  relations  were  too  firmly 
established  to  need  the  aid  of  correspondence,  and  each  knew 


WARREN   H1LLAND  57 

that  when  they  met  again  they  would  resume  their  old  ways. 
In  the  sympathetic  magnetism  of  personal  presence  confi 
dences  would  be  given  that  they  would  naturally  hesitate  to 
write  out  in  cool  blood. 

Thus  Graham  was  left  to  drift  and  philosophize  at  first. 
But  his  aunt  was  right:  he  could  not  daily  see  one  who  so 
fully  satisfied  the  cravings  of  his  nature  and  coolly  consider 
the  pros  and  cons.  He  was  one  who  would  kindle  slowly,  but 
it  would  be  an  anthracite  flame  that  would  burn  on  while  life 
lasted. 

He  felt  that  he  had  no  reason  for  discouragement,  for  she 
seemed  to  grow  more  kind  and  friendly  every  day.  This  was 
true  of  her  manner,  for,  looking  upon  him  as  Hilland's  best 
friend,  she  gave  him  a  genuine  regard,  but  it  was  an  esteem 
which,  like  reflected  light,  was  devoid  of  the  warmth  of  affec 
tion  that  comes  direct  from  the  heart. 

She  did  not  suspect  the  feeling  that  at  last  began  to  deepen 
rapidly,  nor  had  he  any  adequate  idea  of  its  strength.  When 
a  grain  of  corn  is  planted  it  is  the  hidden  root  that  first  de 
velops,  and  the  controlling  influence  of  his  life  was  taking 
root  in  Graham's  heart.  If  he  did  not  fully  comprehend  this 
at  an  early  day  it  is  not  strange  that  she  did  not.  She  had 
no  disposition  to  fall  in  love  with  every  interesting  man  she 
met,  and  it  seemed  equally  absurd  to  credit  the  gentlemen  of 
her  acquaintance  with  any  such  tendency.  Her  manner, 
therefore,  toward  the  other  sex  was  characterized  by  a  frank, 
pleasant  friendliness  which  could  be  mistaken  for  coquetry 
by  only  the  most  obtuse  or  the  most  conceited  of  men.  With 
all  his  faults  Graham  was  neither  stupid  nor  vain.  He  un 
derstood  her  regard,  and  doubted  whether  he  could  ever 
change  its  character.  He  only  hoped  that  he  might,  and  un 
til  he  saw  a  better  chance  for  this  he  determined  not  to  reveal 
himself,  fearing  that  if  he  did  so  it  might  terminate  their 
acquaintance. 

"My  best  course,"  he  reasoned,  "is  to  see  her  as  often  as 
possible,  and  thus  give  her  the  opportunity  to  know  me  well. 
If  I  shall  ever  have  any  power  to  win  her  love,  she,  by  some- 


58  HIS   SOMBRE    RIVALS 

thing  in  her  manner  or  tone,  will  unconsciously  reveal  the 
truth  to  me.  Then  I  will  not  be  slow  to  act.  Why  should  I 
lose  the  pleasure  of  these  golden  hours  by  seeking  openly  that 
which  as  yet  she  has  not  the  slightest  disposition  to  give?" 

This  appeared  to  him  a  safe  and  judicious  policy,  and  yet 
it  may  well  be  doubted  whether  it  would  ever  have  been  suc 
cessful  with  Grace  St.  John,  even  had  she  been  as  fancy  free 
as  when  Hilland  first  met  her.  She  was  a  soldier's  daughter, 
and  could  best  be  won  by  Hilland's  soldier-like  wooing.  Not 
that  she  could  have  been  won  any  more  readily  by  direct  and 
impetuous  advances  had  not  her  heart  been  touched,  but  the 
probabilities  are  that  her  heart  never  would  have  been  touched 
by  Graham's  army-of-observation  tactics.  It  would  scarcely 
have  occurred  to  her  to  think  seriously  of  a  man  who  did  not 
follow  her  with  an  eager  quest. 

On  the  other  hand,  as  his  aunt  had  suggested  from  the 
first,  poor  Graham  was  greatly  endangering  his  peace  by  this 
close  study  of  a  woman  lovely  in  herself,  and,  as  he  fully  be 
lieved,  peculiarly  adapted  to  satisfy  every  requirement  of 
his  nature.  A  man  who  knows  nothing  of  a  hidden  treasure 
goes  unconcernedly  on  his  way;  if  he  discovers  it  and  then 
loses  it  he  feels  impoverished. 


SUPREME    MOMENTS  59 


CHAPTEE    VIII 

SUPREME     MOMENTS 

GRAHAM'S  visit  was  at  last  lengthened  to  a  month, 
and  yet  the  impulse  of  work  or  of  departure  had  not 
seized  him.  Indeed,  there  seemed  less  prospect  of 
anything  of  the  kind  than  ever.  A  strong  mutual  attach 
ment  was  growing  between  himself  and  his  aunt.  The 
brusque,  quick-witted  old  lady  interested  him,  while  her  gen 
uine  kindness  and  hearty  welcome  gave  to  him,  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  the  sense  of  being  at  home.  She  was  a 
woman  of  strong  likes  and  dislikes.  She  had  taken  a  fancy 
to  Graham  from  the  first,  and  this  interest  fast  deepened  into 
affection.  She  did  not  know  how  lonely  she  was  in  her  iso 
lated  life,  and  she  found  it  so  pleasant  to  have  some  one  to 
look  after  and  think  about  that  she  would  have  been  glad  to 
have  kept  him  with  her  always. 

Moreover,  she  had  a  lurking  hope,  daily  gaining  confirma 
tion,  that  her  nephew  was  not  so  indifferent  to  her  favorite 
as  he  seemed.  In  her  old  age  she  was  beginning  to  long  for 
kindred  and  closer  ties,  and  she  felt  that  she  could  in  effect 
adopt  Grace,  and  could  even  endure  the  invalid  major  for  the 
sake  of  one  who  was  so  congenial.  She  thought  it  politic  how 
ever  to  let  matters  take  their  own  course,  for  her  strong  good 
sense  led  her  to  believe  that  meddling  rarely  accomplishes 
anything  except  mischief.  She  was  not  averse  to  a  little  in 
direct  diplomacy,  however,  and  did  all  in  her  power  to  make 
it  easy  and  natural  for  Graham  to  see  the  young  girl  as  often 
as  possible,  and  one  lovely  day,  e&rly  in  June,  she  planned 


60  HIS  SOMBRE   RIVALS 

a  little  excursion,  which,  according  to  the  experience  of  her 
early  days,  promised  well  for  her  aims. 

One  breathless  June  morning  that  was  warm,  but  not 
sultry,  she  went  over  to  the  St.  Johns',  and  suggested  a  drive 
to  the  brow  of  a  hill  from  which  there  was  a  superb  view  of 
the  surrounding  country.  The  plan  struck  the  major  pleas 
antly,  and  Grace  was  delighted.  She  had  the  craving  for 
out-of-door  life  common  to  all  healthful  natures,  but  there 
was  another  reason  why  she  longed  for  a  day  under  the  open 
sky  with  her  thoughts  partially  and  pleasantly  distracted 
from  one  great  truth  to  which  she  felt  she  must  grow  accus 
tomed  by  degrees.  It  was  arranged  that  they  should  take 
their  lunch  and  spend  the  larger  part  of  the  afternoon,  thus 
giving  the  affair  something  of  the  aspect  of  a  quiet  little 
picnic. 

Although  Graham  tried  to  take  the  proposition  quietly, 
he  could  not  repress  a  flush  of  pleasure  and  a  certain  alacrity 
of  movement  eminently  satisfactory  to  his  aunt.  Indeed, 
his  spirits  rose  to  a  degree  that  made  him  a  marvel  to  himself, 
and  he  wonderingly  queried,  "Can  I  be  the  same  man  who 
but  a  few  weeks  since  watched  the  dark  line  of  my  native 
country  loom  up  in  the  night,  and  with  prospects  as  vague 
and  dark  as  that  outline  ?" 

Miss  St.  John  seemed  perfectly  radiant  that  morning,  her 
eyes  vying  with  the  June  sunlight,  and  her  cheeks  emulating 
the  roses  everywhere  in  bloom.  What  was  the  cause  of  her 
unaffected  delight?  Was  it  merely  the  prospect  of  a  day 
of  pleasure  in  the  woods  ?  Could  he  hope  that  his  presence 
added  to  her  zest  for  the  occasion  ?  Such  were  the  questions 
with  which  Graham's  mind  was  busy  as  he  aided  the  ladies 
in  their  preparations.  She  certainly  was  more  kind  and 
friendly  than  usual — yes,  more  familiar.  He  was  compelled 
to  admit,  however,  that  her  manner  was  such  as  would  be  nat 
ural  toward  an  old  and  trusted  friend,  but  he  hoped — never 
before  had  he  realized  how  dear  this  hope  was  becoming— 
that  some  day  she  would  awaken  to  the  consciousness  that  he 
might  be  more  than  a  friend.  In  the  meantime  he  would 


SUPREME  MOMENTS  61 

be  patient,  and,  with  the  best  skill  he  could  master,  endeavor 
to  win  her  favor,  instead  of  putting  her  on  the  defensive  by 
seeking  her  love. 

"Two  elements  cannot  pass  into  combination  until  there 
is  mutual  readiness,"  reasoned  the  scientist.  "Contact  is 
not  combination.  My  province  is  to  watch  until  in  some  un 
guarded  moment  she  gives  the  hope  that  she  would  listen  with 
her  heart.  To  speak  before  that,  either  by  word  or  action, 
would  be  pain  to  her  and  humiliation  to  me." 

The  gulf  between  them  was  wide  indeed,  although  she 
smiled  so  genially  upon  him.  In  tying  up  a  bundle  their 
hands  touched.  He  felt  an  electric  thrill  in  all  his  nerves; 
she  only  noticed  the  circumstance  by  saying,  "Who  is  it  that 
is  so  awkward,  you  or  I  ?" 

"You  are  Grace,"  he  replied.     "It  was  L" 

"I  should  be  graceless  indeed  were  I  to  find  fault  with 
anything  to-day,"  she  said  impulsively,  and  raising  her  head 
she  looked  away  into  the  west  as  if  her  thoughts  had  followed 
her  eyes. 

"It  certainly  is  a  very  fine  day,"  Graham  remarked  sen- 
tentiously. 

She  turned  suddenly,  and  saw  that  he  was  watching  her 
keenly.  Conscious  of  her  secret  she  blushed  under  his  de 
tected  scrutiny,  but  laughed  lightly,  saying,  "You  are  a 
happy  man,  Mr.  Graham,  for  you  suggest  that  perfect 
weather  leaves  nothing  else  to  be  desired." 

"Many  have  to  be  content  with  little  else,"  he  replied, 
"and  days  like  this  are  few  and  far  between." 

"Not  few  and  far  between  for  me,"  she  murmured  to  her 
self  as  she  moved  away. 

She  was  kinder  and  more  friendly  to  Graham  than  ever 
before,  but  the  cause  was  a  letter  received  that  morning, 
against  which  her  heart  now  throbbed.  She  had  written  to 
Hilland  of  Graham,  and  of  her  enjoyment  of  his  society, 
dwelling  slightly  on  his  disposition  to  make  himself  agreeable 
without  tendencies  toward  sentiment  and  gallantry. 

Love  is  quick  to  take  alarm,  and  although  Graham  was 


62  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

his  nearest  friend,  Hilland  could  not  endure  the  thought  of 
leaving  the  field  open  to  him  or  to  any  one  a  day  longer.  He 
knew  that  Graham  was  deliberate  and  by  no  means  suscepti 
ble.  And  yet,  to  him,  the  fact  conveyed  by  the  letter,  that 
his  recluse  friend  had  found  the  society  of  Grace  so  satisfac 
tory  that  he  had  lingered  on  week  after  week,  spoke  volumes. 
It  was  not  like  his  studious  and  solitary  companion  of  old. 
Moreover,  he  understood  Graham  sufficiently  well  to  know 
that  Grace  would  have  peculiar  attractions  for  him,  and  that 
upon  a  girl  of  her  mind  he  would  make  an  impression  very 
different  from  that  which  had  led  society  butterflies  to  shun 
him  as  a  bore.  Her  letter  already  indicated  this  truth.  The 
natural  uneasiness  that  he  had  felt  all  along  lest  some  master 
spirit  should  appear  was  intensified.  Although  Graham  was 
so  quiet  and  undemonstrative,  Hilland  knew  him  to  be  pos 
sessed  of  an  indomitable  energy  of  will  when  once  it  was 
aroused  and  directed  toward  an  object.  Thus  far  from 
Grace's  letter  he  believed  that  his  friend  was  only  interested 
in  the  girl  of  his  heart,  and  he  determined  to  forestall 
trouble,  if  possible,  and  secure  the  fruits  of  his  patient  wait 
ing  and  wooing,  if  any  were  to  be  gathered.  At  the  same 
time  he  resolved  to  be  loyal  to  his  friend,  as  far  as  he  could 
admit  his  claims,  and  he  wrote  a  glowing  eulogy  of  Graham, 
unmarred  by  a  phrase  or  word  of  detraction.  Then,  as 
frankly,  he  admitted  his  fears,  in  regard  not  only  to  Graham, 
but  to  others,  and  followed  these  words  with  a  strong  and  im 
passioned  plea  in  his  own  behalf,  assuring  her  that  time  and 
absence,  so  far  from  diminishing  her  mastery  over  him,  had 
rendered  it  complete.  He  entreated  for  permission  to  come 
to  her,  saying  that  his  business  interests,  vast  as  they  were, 
counted  as  less  than  nothing  compared  with  the  possession  of 
her  love — that  he  would  have  pressed  his  suit  by  personal 
presence  long  before  had  not  obligations  to  others  detained 
him.  These  obligations  he  now  could  and  would  delegate, 
for  all  the  wealth  of  the  mines  on  the  continent  would  only 
be  a  burden  unless  she  could  share  it  with  him.  He  also 
informed  her  that  a  ring  made  of  gold,  which  he  himself 


SUPREME    MOMENTS  H3 

had  mined  deep  in  the  mountain's  heart,  was  on  the  way  to 
her — that  his  own  hands  had  helped  to  fashion  the  rude 
circlet — and  that  it  was  significant  of  the  truth  that  he  sought 
her  not  from  the  vantage  ground  of  wealth,  but  because  of 
a  manly  devotion  that  would  lead  him  to  delve  in  a  mine 
or  work  in  a  shop  for  her,  rather  than  live  a  life  of  luxury 
with  any  one  else  in  the  world. 

For  the  loving  girl  what  a  treasure  was  such  a  letter! 
The  joy  it  brought  was  so  overwhelming  that  she  was  glad 
of  the  distractions  which  Mrs.  Mayburn's  little  excursion 
promised.  She  wished  to  quiet  the  tumult  at  her  heart,  so 
that  she  could  write  as  an  earnest  woman  to  an  earnest  man, 
which  she  could  not  do  on  this  bright  June  morning,  with  her 
heart  keeping  tune  with  every  bird  that  sang.  Such  a  re 
sponse  as  she  then  might  have  made  would  have  been  the  one 
he  would  have  welcomed  most,  but  she  did  not  think  so.  "I 
would  not  for  the  world  have  him  know  how  my  head  is 
turned,"  she  had  laughingly  assured  herself,  not  dreaming 
that  such  an  admission  would  disturb  his  equilibrium  to  a 
far  greater  degree. 

"After  a  day,"  she  thought,  "out  of  doors  with  Mrs.  May- 
burn's  genial  common-sense  and  Mr.  Graham's  cool,  half- 
cynical  philosophy  to  steady  me,  I  shall  be  sane  enough  to 
answer." 

They  were  soon  bowling  away  in  a  strong,  three-seated 
rockaway,  well  suited  to  country  roads,  Graham  driving,  with 
the  object  of  his  thoughts  and  hopes  beside  him.  Mrs.  May- 
burn  and  the  major  occupied  the  back  seat,  while  Jinny,  with 
a  capacious  hamper,  was  in  the  middle  seat,  and  in  the  esti 
mation  of  the  diplomatic  aunt  made  a  good  screen  and 
division. 

All  seemed  to  promise  well  for  her  schemes,  for  the 
young  people  appeared  to  be  getting  on  wonderfully  together. 
There  was  a  constant  succession  of  jest  and  repartee.  Grace 
was  cordiality  itself;  and  in  Graham's  eyes  that  morning 
there  was  coming  an  expression  of  which  he  may  not  have 
been  fully  aware,  or  which  at  last  he  would  permit  to  be 


64 

seen.  Indeed,  he  was  yielding  rapidly  to  the  spell  of  her 
beauty  and  the  charm  of  her  mind  and  manner.  He  was 
conscious  of  a  strange,  exquisite  exhilaration.  Every  nerve 
in  his  body  seemed  alive  to  her  presence,  while  the  refined 
and  delicate  curves  of  her  cheek  and  throat  gave  a  pleasure 
which  no  statue  in  the  galleries  of  Europe  had  ever  imparted. 

He  wondered  at  all  this,  for  to  him  it  was  indeed  a  new 
experience.  His  past  with  its  hopes  and  ambitions  seemed 
to  have  floated  away  to  an  indefinite  distance,  and  he  to  have 
awakened  to  a  new  life — a  new  phase  of  existence.  In  the 
exaltation  of  the  hour  he  felt  that,  whatever  might  be  the 
result,  he  had  received  a  revelation  of  capabilities  in  his  na 
ture  of  which  he  had  not  dreamed,  and  which  at  the  time 
promised  to  compensate  for  any  consequent  reaction.  He 
exulted  in  his  human  organism  as  a  master  in  music  might 
rejoice  over  the  discovery  of  an  instrument  fitted  to  respond 
perfectly  to  his  genius.  Indeed,  the  thought  crossed  his  mind 
more  than  once  that  day  that  the  marvel  of  marvels  was  that 
mere  clay  could  be  so  highly  organized.  It  was  not  his  thrill 
ing  nerves  alone  which  suggested  this  thought,  or  the  pure 
mobile  face  of  the  young  girl,  so  far  removed  from  any  sug 
gestion  of  earthliness,  but  a  new  feeling,  developing  in  his 
heart,  that  seemed  so  deep  and  strong  as  to  be  deathless. 

They  reached  their  destination  in  safety.  The  June  sun 
light  would  have  made  any  place  attractive,  but  the  brow  of 
the  swelling  hill  with  its  wide  outlook,  its  background  of 
grove  and  intervening  vistas,  left  nothing  to  be  desired.  The 
horses  were  soon  contentedly  munching  their  oats,  and  yet 
their  stamping  feet  and  switching  tails  indicated  that  even 
for  the  brute  creation  there  is  ever  some  alloy.  Graham, 
however,  thought  that  fortune  had  at  last  given  him  one  per 
fect  day.  There  was  no  perceptible  cloud.  The  present  was 
so  eminently  satisfactory  that  it  banished  the  past,  or,  if 
remembered,  it  served  as  a  foil.  The  future  promised  a 
chance  for  happiness  that  seemed  immeasurable,  although 
the  horizon  of  his  brief  existence  was  so  near;  for  he  felt 
that  with  her  as  his  own,  human  life  with  all  its  limitations 


SUPREME   MOMENTS 

was  a  richer  gift  than  he  had  ever  imagined  possible, 
yet,  like  a  slight  and  scarcely  heard  discord,  the  t 
would  come  occasionally,  "Since  so  much  is  possible,  more 
ought  to  be  possible.  With  such  immense  capability  for  life 
as  I  am  conscious  of  to-day,  how  is  it  that  this  life  is  but  a 
passing  and  perishing  manifestation  ?" 

Such  impressions  took  no  definite  form,  however,  but 
merely  passed  through  the  dim  background  of  his  conscious 
ness,  while  he  gave  his  whole  soul  to  the  effort  to  make  the 
day  one  that  from  its  unalloyed  pleasure  could  not  fail  to  re 
call  him  to  the  memory  of  Miss  St.  John.  He  believed  him 
self  to  be  successful,  for  he  felt  as  if  inspired.  He  was  ready 
with  a  quick  reply  to  all  her  mirthful  sallies,  and  he  had  the 
tact  to  veil  his  delicate  flattery  under  a  manner  and  mode  of 
speech  that  suggested  rather  than  revealed  his  admiration. 
She  was  honestly  delighted  with  him  and  his  regard,  as  she 
understood  it,  and  she  congratulated  herself  again  and  again 
that  Hilland's  friend  was  a  man  that  she  also  would  find  un 
usually  agreeable.  His  kindness  to  her  father  had  warmed 
her  heart  toward  him,  and  now  his  kindness  and  interest  were 
genuine,  although  at  first  somewhat  hollow  and  assumed. 

Graham  had  become  a  decided  favorite  with  the  old  gen 
tleman,  for  he  had  proved  the  most  efficient  ally  that  Grace 
had  ever  gained  in  quickening  the  pace  of  heavy-footed  Time. 
Even  the  veteran's  chilled  blood  seemed  to  feel  the  influences 
of  the  day,  and  his  gallantry  toward  Mrs.  Mayburn  was  more 
pronounced  than  usual.  "We,  too,  will  be  young  people  once 
more,"  he  remarked,  "for  the  opportunity  may  not  come  to 
us  again." 

They  discussed  their  lunch  with  zest,  they  smiled  into  one 
another's  face,  and  indulged  in  little  pleasantries  that  were 
as  light  and  passing  as  the  zephyrs  that  occasionally  flut 
tered  the  leaves  above  their  heads;  but  deep  in  each  heart 
were  memories,  tides  of  thought,  hopes,  fears,  joys,  that  form 
the  tragic  background  of  all  human  life.  The  old  major 
gave  some  reminiscences  of  his  youthful  campaigning.  In 
his  cheerful  mood  his  presentation  of  them  was  in  harmony 


66  HIS    SOMBRE   RIVALS 

with  the  sunny  afternoon.  The  bright  sides  of  his  experi 
ences  were  toward  his  auditors,  but  what  dark  shadows  of 
wounds,  agony,  and  death  were  on  the  further  side !  And  of 
these  he  could  never  be  quite  unconscious,  even  while  awak 
ening  laughter  at  the  comic  episodes  of  war. 

Mrs.  Mayburn  seemed  her  plain-spoken,  cheery  self,  in 
tent  only  on  making  the  most  of  this  genial  hour  in  the 
autumn  of  her  life,  and  yet  she  was  watching  over  a  hope 
that  she  felt  might  make  her  last  days  her  best  days.  She 
was  almost  praying  that  the  fair  girl  whom  she  had  so  learned 
to  love  might  become  the  solace  of  her  age,  and  fill,  in  her 
childless  heart,  a  place  that  had  ever  been  an  aching  void. 
Miss  St.  John  was  too  preoccupied  to  see  any  lover  but  one, 
and  he  was  ever  present,  though  thousands  of  miles  away. 
But  she  saw  in  Graham  his  friend,  and  had  already  accepted 
him  also  as  her  most  agreeable  friend,  liking  him  all  the 
better  for  his  apparent  disposition  to  appeal  only  to  her  fancy 
and  reason,  instead  of  her  heart.  She  saw  well  enough  that 
he  liked  her  exceedingly,  but  Hilland's  impetuous  wooing  and 
impassioned  words  had  made  her  feel  that  there  was  an  infi 
nite  difference  between  liking  and  loving;  and  she  pictured 
to  herself  the  pleasure  they  would  both  enjoy  when  finding 
that  their  seemingly  chance  acquaintance  was  but  prepara 
tion  for  the  closer  ties  which  their  several  relations  to  Hilland 
could  not  fail  to  occasion. 

The  object  of  this  kindly  but  most  temperate  regard 
smiled  into  her  eyes,  chatted  easily  on  any  topic  suggested, 
and  appeared  entirely  satisfied;  but  was  all  the  while  con 
scious  of  a  growing  need  which,  denied,  would  impoverish 
his  life,  making  it,  brief  even  as  he  deemed  it  to  be,  an  in 
tolerable  burden.  But  on  this  summer  afternoon  hope  was 
in  the  ascendant,  and  he  saw  no  reason  why  the  craving  of 
all  that  was  best  and  noblest  in  his  nature  should  not  be  met. 
When  a  supreme  affection  first  masters  the  heart  it  often  car 
ries  with  it  a  certain  assurance  that  there  must  be  a  response, 
that  when  so  much  is  given  by  a  subtle,  irresistible,  unex 
pected  impulse,  the  one  receiving  should,  sooner  or  later,  by 


SUPREME   MOMENTS  67 

some  law  of  correspondence,  be  inclined  to  return  a  similar 
regard.  All  living  things  in  nature,  when  not  interfered 
with,  at  the  right  time  and  in  the  right  way,  sought  and 
found  what  was  essential  to  the  completion  of  their  life,  and 
he  was  a  part  of  nature.  According  to  the  law  of  his  own 
individuality  he  had  yielded  to  Miss  St.  John's  power.  His 
reason  had  kept  pace  with  his  heart.  He  had  advanced  to 
his  present  attitude  toward  her  like  a  man,  and  had  not  been 
driven  to  it  by  the  passion  of  an  animal.  Therefore  he  was 
hopeful,  self-complacent,  and  resolute.  He  not  only  pro 
posed  to  win  the  girl  he  loved,  cost  what  it  might  in  time  and 
effort,  but  in  the  exalted  mood  of  the  hour  felt  that  he  could 
and  must  win  her. 

She,  all  unconscious,  smiled  genially,  and  indeed  seemed 
the  very  embodiment  of  mirth.  Her  talk  was  brilliant,  yet 
interspersed  with  strange  lapses  that  began  to  puzzle  him. 
Meanwhile  she  scarcely  saw  him,  gave  him  but  the  passing 
attention  with  which  one  looks  up  from  an  absorbing  story, 
and  all  the  time  the  letter  against  which  her  heart  pressed 
seemed  alive  and  endowed  with  the  power  to  make  each  throb 
more  glad  and  full  of  deep  content. 

How  isolated  and  inscrutable  is  the  mystery  of  each  hu 
man  life!  Here  were  Tour  people  strongly  interested  in 
each  other  and  most  friendly,  between  whom  was  a  constant 
interchange  of  word  and  glance,  and  yet  their  thought  and 
feeling  were  flowing  in  strong  diverse  currents,  unseen  and 
unsuspected. 

As  the  day  declined  they  all  grew  more  silent  and  ab 
stracted.  Deeper  shadows  crept  into  the  vistas  of  memory 
with  the  old,  and  those  who  had  become  but  memories  were 
with  them  again  as  they  had  been  on  like  June  days  half  a 
century  before.  With  the  young  the  future,  outlined  by 
hope,  took  forms  so  absorbing  that  the  present  was  forgotten. 
Ostensibly  they  were  looking  off  at  the  wide  and  diversified 
landscape ;  in  reality  they  were  contemplating  the  more  varied 
experiences,  actual  and  possible,  of  life. 

At  last  the  major  complained  querulously  that  he  was 


68  HIS   SOMBRE   R1LALS 

growing  chilly.  The  shadow  in  which  he  shivered  was  not 
caused  by  the  sinking  sun. 

The  hint  was  taken  at  once,  and  in  a  few  moments  they 
were  on  their  way  homeward.  The  old  sportive  humor  of 
the  morning  did  not  return.  The  major  was  the  aged  in 
valid  again.  Mrs.  Mayburn  and  Graham  were  perplexed, 
for  Grace  had  seemingly  become  remote  from  them  all.  She 
was  as  kind  as  ever ;  indeed  her  manner  was  characterized  by 
an  unusual  gentleness;  but  they  could  not  but  see  that  her 
thoughts  were  not  with  them.  The  first  tumultuous  torrent 
of  her  joy  had  passed,  and  with  it  her  girlhood.  Now,  as  an 
earnest  woman,  she  was  approaching  the  hour  of  her  be 
trothal,  when  she  would  write  words  that  would  bind  her  to 
another  and  give  direction  to  all  her  destiny.  Her  form  was 
at  Graham's  side;  the  woman  was  not  there.  Whither  and 
to  whom  had  she  gone?  The  question  caused  him  to  turn 
pale  with  fear. 

"Miss  Grace,"  he  said  at  last,  and  there  was  a  tinge  of 
reproach  in  his  voice,  "where  are  you?  You  left  us  some 
time  since,"  and  he  turned  and  tried  to  look  searchingly  into 
her  eyes. 

She  met  his  without  confusion  or  rise  in  color.  Her  feel 
ings  had  become  so  deep  and  earnest,  so  truly  those  of  a 
woman  standing  on  the  assured  ground  of  fealty  to  another, 
that  she  was  beyond  her  former  girlish  sensitiveness  and  its 
quick,  involuntary  manifestations.  She  said  gently,  "Par 
don  me,  Mr.  Graham,  for  my  unsocial  abstraction.  You  de 
serve  better  treatment  for  all  your  efforts  for  our  enjoyment 
to-day." 

"Please  do  not  come  back  on  compulsion,"  he  said.  "I 
do  not  think  I  am  a  natural  Paul  Pry,  but  I  would  like  to 
know  where  you  have  been." 

"I  will  tell  you  some  day,"  she  said,  with  a  smile  that 
was  so  friendly  that  his  heart  sprang  up  in  renewed  hope. 
Then,  as  if  remembering  what  was  due  to  him  and  the  others, 
she  buried  her  thoughts  deep  in  her  heart  until  she  could  be 
alone  with  them  and  their  object.  And  yet  her  secret  joy, 


SUPREME   MOMENTS  69 

like  a  hidden  fire,  tinged  all  her  words  with  a  kindly  warmth. 
Graham  and  his  aunt  were  not  only  pleased  but  also  per 
plexed,  for  both  were  conscious  of  something  in  Grace's  man 
ner  which  they  could  not  understand.  Mrs.  Mayburn  was 
sanguine  that  her  June-day  strategy  was  bringing  forth  the 
much-desired  results;  her  nephew  only  hoped.  They  all 
parted  with  cordial  words,  which  gave  slight  hint  of  that 
Which  was  supreme  in  each  mind. 


70  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE     REVELATION" 

GRAHAM  found  letters  -which  required  nis  absence 
for  a  day  or  two,  and  it  seemed  to  him  eminently 
fitting  that  he  should  go  over  in  the  evening  and 
say  good-by  to  Miss  St.  John.  Indeed  he  was  disposed  to 
say  more,  if  the  opportunity  offered.  His  hopes  sank  as  he 
saw  that  the  first  floor  was  darkened,  and  in  answer  to  his 
summons  Jinny  informed  him  that  the  major  and  Miss  Grace 
were  "po'ful  tired"  and  had  withdrawn  to  their  rooms. 

He  trembled  to  find  how  deep  was  his  disappointment, 
and  understood  as  never  before  that  his  old  self  had  ceased 
to  exist.  A  month  since  no  one  was  essential  to  him ;  now 
his  being  had  become  complex.  Then  he  could  have  crossed 
the  ocean  with  a  few  easily  spoken  farewells;  now  he  could 
not  go  away  for  a  few  hours  without  feeling  that  he  must 
see  one  who  was  then  a  stranger.  The  meaning  of  this  was 
all  too  plain,  and  as  he  walked  away  in  the  June  starlight 
he  admitted  it  fully.  Another  life  had  become  essential  to 
his  own.  And  still  he  clung  to  his  old  philosophy,  mutter 
ing,  "If  this  be  true,  why  will  not  my  life  become  as  needful 
to  her  ?' '  His  theory,  like  many  another,  was  a  product  of 
wishes  rather  than  an  induction  from  facts. 

When  he  returned  after  a  long  ramble,  the  light  still 
burning  in  Miss  St.  John's  window  did  not  harmonize  with 
the  story  of  the  young  girl's  fatigue.  The  faint  rays,  how 
ever,  could  reveal  nothing,  although  they  had  illumined  page 
after  page  traced  full  of  words  of  such  vital  import  to  him. 

Mrs.  Mayburn  shared  his  early  breakfast,  and  before  he 
took  his  leave  he  tried  to  say  in  an  easy,  natural  manner: 


THE   REVELATION  71 

"Please  make  my  adieus  to  Miss  St.  John,  and  say  I 
called  to  present  them  in  person,  but  it  seemed  she  had 
retired  with  the  birds.  The  colored  divinity  informed  me 
that  she  was  'po'ful  tired,'  and  I  hope  you  will  express 
my  regret  that  the  day  proved  so  exceedingly  wearisome." 
Mrs.  Mayburn  lifted  her  keen  gray  eyes  to  her  nephew's 
face,  and  a  slow  rising  flush  appeared  under  her  scrutiny. 
Then  she  said  gently,  "That's  a  long  speech,  Alford,  but  I 
don't  think  it  expresses  your  meaning.  If  1  give  your  cor 
dial  good- by  to  Grace  and  tell  her  that  you  hope  soon  to  see 
her  again,  shall  I  not  better  carry  out  your  wishes?" 

"Yes,"  was  the  grave  and  candid  reply. 

"I  believe  you  are  in  earnest  now." 

"I  am,  indeed,"  he  replied,  almost  solemnly,  and  with 
these  vague  yet  significant  words  they  came  to  an  under 
standing. 

Three  days  elapsed,  and  still  Graham's  business  was  not 
completed.  In  his  impatience  he  left  it  unfinished  and  re 
turned.  How  his  heart  bounded  as  he  saw  the  familiar  cot 
tage!  With  hasty  steps  he  passed  up  the  path  from  the 
street.  It  was  just  such  another  evening  as  that  which  had 
smiled  upon  his  first  coming  to  his  aunt's  residence,  only 
now  there  was  summer  warmth  in  the  air,  and  the  richer, 
fuller  promise  of  the  year.  The  fragrance  that  filled  the 
air,  if  less  delicate,  was  more  penetrating,  and  came  from 
flowers  that  had  absorbed  the  sun's  strengthening  rays.  If 
there  was  less  of  spring's  ecstasy  in  the  song  of  the  birds, 
there  was  now  in  their  notes  that  which  was  in  truer  accord 
with  Graham's  mood. 

At  a  turn  of  the  path  he  stopped  short,  for  on  the  rustic 
seat  beneath  the  apple-tree  he  saw  Miss  St.  John  reading  a 
letter;  then  he  went  forward  to  greet  her,  almost  impetu 
ously,  with  a  glow  in  his  face  and  a  light  in  his  eyes  which 
no  one  had  ever  seen  before.  She  rose  to  meet  him,  and 
there  was  an  answering  gladness  in  her  face  which  made 
her  seem  divine  to  him. 

"You  are  welcome,"  she  said  cordially.     "We  have  all 


72  HIS   SOMBRE    RIVALS 

missed  you  more  than  we  dare  tell  you;"  and  she  gave  his 
hand  a  warm,  strong  pressure.  ,  ^ 

The  cool,  even-pulsed  man,  who  as  a  boy  had  learned  to 
hide  his  feelings,  was  for  a  moment  unable  to  speak.  His 
own  intense  emotion,  his  all-absorbing  hcpe,  blinded  him  to 
the  character  of  her  greeting,  and  led  him  to  give  it  a  mean 
ing  it  did  not  possess.  She,  equally  preoccupied  with  her 
one  thought,  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  in  surprise,  and 
then  cried,  "He  has  told  you — has  written?" 

"He!  who?"  Graham  exclaimed  with  a  blanching  face. 

"Why,  Warren  Hilland,  your  friend.  I  told  you  I  would 
tell  you,  but  I  could  not  before  I  told  him,"  she  faltered. 

He  took  an  uncertain  step  or  two  to  the  tree,  and  leaned 
against  it  for  support. 

The  young  girl  dropped  the  letter  and  clasped  her  hands 
in  her  distress.  "It  was  on  the  drive — our  return,  you  re 
member,"  she  began  incoherently.  "You  asked  where  my 
thoughts  were,  and  I  said  I  would  tell  you  soon.  Oh !  we 
have  both  been  blind.  I  am  so — so  sorry. ' ' 

Graham's  face  and  manner  had  indeed  been  an  unmis 
takable  revelation,  and  the  frank,  generous  girl  waited  for 
no  conventional  acknowledgment  before  uttering  what  was 
uppermost  in  her  heart. 

By  an  effort  which  evidently  taxed  every  atom  of  his 
manhood,  Graham  gained  self-control,  and  said  quietly, 
"Miss  St.  John,  I  think  better  of  myself  for  having  loved 
you.  if  i  had  known !  But  you  are  not  to  blame.  It  is  I 
who  have  been  blind,  for  you  have  never  shown  other  than, 
the  kindly  regard  which  was -most  natural,  knowing  that 
I  was  Hilland's  friend.  I  have  not  been  frank  either,  or  I 
should  have  learned  the  truth  long  ago.  I  disguised  the 
growing  interest  I  felt  in  you  from  the  first,  fearing  I  should 
lose  my  chance  if  you  understood  me  too  early.  I  am  Hil 
land's  friend.  No  one  living  now  knows  him  better  than 
I  do,  and  from  the  depths  of  my  heart  I  congratulate  you. 
He  is  the  best  and  truest  man  that  ever  lived. ' ' 

"Will  you  not  be  my  friend,  also?"  she  faltered. 


THE   REVELATION  73 

He  looked  at  her  earnestly  as  he  replied,  "Yes,  for  life." 

"You  will  feel  differently  soon,"  said  the  young  girl, 
trying  to  smile  reassuringly.  "You  will  see  that  it  has  all 
been  a  mistake,  a  misunderstanding;  and  when  your  friend 
returns  we  will  have  the  merriest,  happiest  times  together." 

"Could  you  soon  feel  differently  ?"  he  asked. 

"Oh!  why  did  you  say  that?"  she  moaned,  burying  her 
face  in  her  hands.  "If  you  will  suffer  even  in  a  small 
degree  as  I  should!" 

Her  distress  was  so  evident  and  deep  that  he  stood  erect 
and  stepped  toward  her.  "Why  are  you  so  moved,  Miss 
St.  John  ?"  he  asked.  "I  have  merely  paid  you  the  highest 
compliment  within  my  power. ' ' 

Her  hands  dropped  from  her  face,  and  she  turned  away, 
but  not  so  quickly  as  to  hide  the  tears  that  dimmed  her  lus 
trous  eyes.  His  lip  quivered  for  a  moment  at  the  sight  of 
them,  but  she  did  not  see  this. 

"You  have  merely  paid  me  a  compliment,"  she  repeated 
in  a  low  tone. 

The  lines  of  his  mouth  were  firm  now,  his  face  grave  and 
composed,  and  in  his  gray  eyes  only  a  close  observer  might 
have  seen  that  an  indomitable  will  was  resuming  sway. 
"Certainly,"  he  continued,  "and  such  compliments  you 
have  received  before  and  would  often  again  were  you  free 
to  receive  them.  I  cannot  help  remembering  that  there  is 
nothing  unique  in  this  episode." 

She  turned  and  looked  at  him  doubtingly,  as  she  said 
with  hesitation,  "You  then  regard  your — your — " 

"My  vacation  experience,"  he  supplied. 

Her  eyes  widened  in  what  resembled  indignant  surprise, 
and  her  tones  grew  a  little  cold  and  constrained  as  she  again, 
repeated  his  words. 

"You  then  regard  your  experience  as  a  vacation 
episode. ' ' 

"Do  not  for  a  moment  think  I  have  been  insincere,"  he 
said,  with  strong  emphasis,  "or  that  I  should  not  have  es 
teemed  it  the  chief  honor  of  my  life  had  I  been  successful — " 
D— ROE— XIII 


T4  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

"As  to  that,"  she  interrupted,  "there  are  so  many  other 
honors  that  a  man  can  win." 

"Assuredly.  Pardon  me,  Miss  St.  John,  but  I  am  sure 
you  have  had  to  inflict  similar  disappointments  before.  Did 
not  the  men  survive  ?" 

The  girl  broke  out  into  a  laugh  in  which  there  was  a 
trace  of  bitterness.  "Survive!"  she  cried.  "Indeed  they 
did.  One  is  already  married,  and  another  I  happen  to  know 
is  engaged.  I'm  sure  I'm  glad,  however.  Your  logic  is 
plain  and  forcible,  Mr.  Graham,  and  you  relieve  my  mind 
greatly.  Men  must  be  different  from  women." 

"Undoubtedly." 

"What  did  you  mean  by  asking  me,  'Could  you  soon 
feel  differently?'  " 

He  hesitated  a  moment  and  flushed  slightly,  then  queried 
with  a  smile,  "What  did  you  mean  by  saying  that  I  should 
soon  learn  to  feel  differently,  and  that  when  Hilland  returned 
we  should  have  the  merriest  times  together?" 

It  was  her  turn  now  to  be  confused  now;  and  she  saw 
that  her  words  were  hollow,  though  spoken  from  a  kindly 
impulse. 

He  relieved  her  by  continuing:  "You  probably  spoke 
from  an  instinctive  estimate  of  me.  You  remembered  what 
a  cool  and  wary  suitor  I  had  been.  Your  father  would  say 
that  1  had  adopted  an-army-of-observation  tactics,  and  I 
might  have  remembered  that  such  armies  rarely  accomplish 
much.  I  waited  for  you  to  show  some  sign  of  weakness,  and 
now  you  see  that  I  am  deservedly  punished.  It  is  ever  best 
to  face  the  facts  as  they  are. ' ' 

"You  appear  frank,  Mr.  Graham,  and  you  certainly  have 
not  studied  philosophy  in  vain. ' ' 

"Why  should  I  not  take  a  philosophical  view  of  the 
affair  ?  In  my  policy,  which  I  thought  so  safe  and  astute, 
I  blundered.  If  from  the  first  I  had  manifested  the  feeling" 
— the  young  girl  smiled  slightly  at  the  word — "which  you 
inspired,  you  would  soon  have  taught  me  the  wisdom  of 
repressing  its  growth.  Thus  you  see  that  you  have  not 


THE   REVELATION  75 

the  slightest  reason  for  self-censure;  and  I  can  go  on  my 
way,  at  least  a  wiser  man. ' ' 

She  bowed  gracefully,  as  she  said  with  a  laugh,  "I  am 
now  beginning  to  understand  that  Mr.  Graham  can  scarcely 
regret  anything  which  adds  to  his  stores  of  wisdom,  and  cer 
tainly  not  so  slight  an  'affair'  as  a  'vacation  episode.'  Now 
that  we  have  talked  over  this  little  misunderstanding  so 
frankly  and  rationally,  will  you  not  join  us  at  whist 
to-night?" 

"Certainly.  My  aunt  and  I  will  come  over  as  usual." 
Her  brow  contracted  in  perplexity  as  she  looked  search- 
ingly  at  him  for  a  moment;  but  his  face  was  simply  calm, 
grave,  and  kindly  in  its  expression,  and  yet  there  was  some 
thing  about  the  man  which  impressed  her  and  even  awed 
her — something  unseen,  but  felt  by  her  woman's  intuition. 
It  must  be  admitted  that  it  was  felt  but  vaguely  at  the  time; 
for  Grace  after  all  was  a  woman,  and  Graham's  apparent  phi 
losophy  was  not  altogether  satisfactory.  It  had  seemed  to 
her  as  the  interview  progressed  that  she  had  been  surprised 
into  showing  a  distress  and  sympathy  for  which  there  was 
no  occasion — that  she  had  interpreted  a  cool,  self-poised 
man  by  her  own  passionate  heart  and  boundless  love.  In 
brief,  she  feared  she  had  been  sentimental  over  an  occasion 
which  Graham,  as  he  had  suggested,  was  able  to  view  philo 
sophically.  She  had  put  a  higher  estimate  on  his  disappoint 
ment' than  he,  apparently;  and  she  had  too  much  of  her 
father's  spirit,  and  too  much  womanly  pride  not  to  resent 
this,  even  though  she  was  partially  disarmed  by  this  very 
disappointment,  and  still  more  so  by  his  self -accusation  and 
his  tribute  to  Hilland.  But  that  which  impressed  her  most 
was  something  of  which  she  saw  no  trace  in  the  calm,  self- 
controlled  man  before  her.  As  a  rule,  the  soul's  life  is  hid 
den,  except  as  it  chooses  to  reveal  itself;  but  there  are  times 
when  the  excess  of  joy  or  suffering  cannot  be  wholly  con 
cealed,  even  though  every  muscle  is  rigid  and  the  face  mar 
ble.  Therefore,  although  there  were  no  outward  signals  of 
distress,  Graham's  agony  was  not  without  its  influence  on 


76  BIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

the  woman  before  him,  and  it  led  her  to  say,  gently  and  hesi 
tatingly,  "But  you  promised  to  be  my  friend,  Mr.  Graham." 

His  iron  will  almost  failed  him,  for  he  saw  how  far 
removed  she  was  from  those  women  who  see  and  know 
nothing  save  that  which  strikes  their  senses.  He  had 
meant  to  pique  her  pride  as  far  as  he  could  without  offence, 
even  though  he  sank  low  in  her  estimation ;  but  such  was 
the  delicacy  of  her  perceptions  that  she  half  divined  the 
trouble  he  sedulously  strove  to  hide.  He  felt  as  if  he  could 
sit  down  and  cry  like  a  child  over  his  immeasurable  loss, 
and  for  a  second  feared  he  would  give  way.  There  was  in 
his  eyes  a  flash  of  anger  at  his  weakness,  but  it  passed  so 
quickly  that  she  could  scarcely  note,  much  less  interpret  it. 

Then  he  stepped  forward  in  a  friendly,  hearty  way,  and 
took  her  hand  as  he  said:  "Yes,  Miss  St.  John,  and  I  will 
keep  my  promise.  I  will  be  your  friend  for  life.  If  you 
knew  my  relations  to  Hilland,  you  could  not  think  other 
wise.  I  shall  tell  him  when  we  meet  of  my  first  and  char 
acteristic  siege  of  a  woman's  heart,  of  the  extreme  and 
prudent  caution  with  which  I  opened  my  distant  parallels, 
and  how,  at  last,  when  I  came  within  telescopic  sight  of  the 
prize,  I  found  that  he  had  already  captured  it.  My  course 
has  been  so  perfectly  absurd  that  1  must  laugh  in  spite  of 
myself;"  and  he  did  laugh  so  naturally  and  genially  that 
Grace  was  constrained  to  join  him,  although  the  trouble 
and  perplexity  did  not  wholly  vanish  from  her  eyes. 

"And  now,"  he  concluded,  "that  I  have  experienced  my 
first  natural  surprise,  I  will  do  more  than  sensibly  accept 
the  situation.  1  congratulate  you  upon  it  as  no  one  else 
can.  Had  I  a  sister  I  would  rather  that  she  married  Hil 
land  than  any  other  man  in  the  world.  We  thus  start  on 
the  right  basis  for  friendship,  and  there  need  be  no  awk 
ward  restraint  on  either  side.  I  must  now  pay  my  respects 
to  my  aunt,  or  I  shall  lose  not  only  her  good  graces  but  my 
supper  also;"  and  with  a  smiling  bow  he  turned  and  walked 
rapidly  up  the  path,  and  disappeared  within  Mrs.  Mayburn's 
open  door. 


THE   REVELATION  77 

Grace  looked  after  him,  and  the  perplexed  contraction 
of  her  brow  deepened.  She  picked  up  Hilland's  letter,  and 
slowly  and  musingly  folded  it.  Suddenly  she  pressed  a  fer 
vent  kiss  upon  it,  and  murmured:  "Thank  God,  the  writer 
of  this  has  blood  in  his  veins;  and  yet — and  yet — he  looked 
at  first  as  if  he  had  received  a  mortal  wound,  and — and — 
all  the  time  I  felt  that  he  suffered.  But  very  possibly  I  am 
crediting  him  with  that  which  would  be  inevitable  were 
my  case  his." 

With  bowed  head  she  returned  slowly  and  thoughtfully 
through  the  twilight  to  her  home. 


78  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 


CHAPTEE   X 

THE   KINSHIP   OF   SUFFERING 

WHEN  Graham  felt  that  Le  bad  reached  the  refuge 
of  his  aunt's  cottage,  his  self-control  failed  him, 
and  he  almost  staggered  into  the  dusky  parlor 
and  sank  into  a  chair.  Burying  his  face  in  his  hands,  he 
muttered:  "Fool,  fool,  fool!"  and  a  long,  shuddering  sigh 
swept  through  his  frame. 

How  long  he  remained  in  this  attitude  he  did  not  know, 
so  overwhelmed  was  he  by  his  sense  of  loss.  At  last  he  felt 
a  hand  laid  upon  his  shoulder;  he  looked  up  and  saw  that 
the  lamp  was  lighted  and  that  his  aunt  was  standing  beside 
him.  His  face  was  so  altered  and  haggard  that  she  uttered 
an  exclamation  of  distress. 

Graham  hastily  arose  and  turned  down  the  light.  "I 
cannot  bear  that  you  should  look  upon  my  weakness, ' '  he 
said,  hoarsely. 

"I  should  not  be  ashamed  of  having  loved  Grace  St. 
John,"  said  the  old  lady,  quietly. 

"Nor  am  I.  As  I  told  her,  I  think  far  better  of  myself 
for  having  done  so.  A  man  who  has  seen  her  as  I  have 
would  be  less  than  a  man  had  he  not  loved  her.  But  oh, 
the  future,  the  future !  How  am  I  to  support  the  truth  that 
my  love  is  useless,  hopeless  ?' ' 

"Alford,  I  scarcely  need  tell  you  that  my  disappoint 
ment  is  bitter  also.  I  had  set  my  heart  on  this  thing. " 

"You  know  all,  then?" 

"Yes,  1  know  she  is  engaged  to  your  friend,  Warren 
Billand.  She  came  over  in  the  dusk  of  last  evening,  and, 


THE   KINSHIP   OF   SUFFERING  79 

sitting  just  where  you  are,  told  me  all.  I  kept  up.  It  was 
not  for  me  to  reveal  your  secret.  I  let  the  happy  girl  talk 
on,  kissed  her,  and  wished  her  all  the  happiness  she  de 
serves.  Grace  is  unlike  other  girls,  or  I  should  have  known 
about  it  long  ago.  I  don't  think  she  even  told  her  father 
until  she  had  first  written  to  him  her  full  acknowledgment. 
Your  friend,  however,  had  gained  her  father's  consent  to 
his  addresses  long  since.  She  told  me  that." 

"Oh,  my  awful  future!"  he  groaned. 

"Alford, "  Mrs.  May  burn  said,  gently  but  firmly,  "think 
of  her  future.  Grace  is  so  good  and  kind  that  she  would  be 
very  unhappy  if  she  saw  and  heard  you  now.  I  hope  you 
did  not  give  way  thus  in  her  presence." 

He  sprang  to  his  feet  and  paced  the  room  rapidly  at  first, 
then  more  and  more  slowly.  Soon  he  turned  up  the  light, 
and  Mrs.  Mayburn  was  surprised  at  the  change  in  his  ap 
pearance. 

"You  are  a  strong,  sensible  woman,"  he  began. 

"Well,  I  will  admit  the  premise  for  the  sake  of  learning 
what  is  to  follow." 

"Miss  St.  John  must  never  know  of  my  sense  of  loss — 
my  present  despair,"  he  said,  in  low,  rapid  speech.  "Some 
zest  in  life  may  come  back  to  me  in  time;  but,  be  that  as 
it  may,  I  shall  meet  my  trouble  like  a  man.  To  make  her 
suffer  now — to  cloud  her  well- merited  happiness  ar.d  that 
o£my  friend — would  be  to  add  a  bitterness  beyond  that  of 
death.  Aunt,  you  first  thought  me  cold  and  incapable 
of  strong  attachments,  and  a  few  weeks  since  I  could  not 
have  said  that  your  estimate  was  far  astray,  although  I'm 
sure  my  friendship  for  Hilland  was  as  strong  as  the  love 
of  most  men.  Until  I  met  you  and  Grace  it  was  the  only 
evidence  I  possessed  that  I  had  a  heart.  Can  you  wonder  ? 
He  was  the  first  one  that  ever  showed  me  any  real  kindness. 
I  was  orphaned  in  bitter  truth,  and  from  childhood  my  nature 
was  chilled  and  benumbed  by  neglect  and  isolation.  Growth 
and  change  are  not  so  much  questions  of  time  as  of  condi 
tions.  From  the  first  moment  that  I  saw  Grace  St.  John, 


80  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

she  interested  me  deeply;  and,  self-complacent,  self-confident 
fool  that  I  was,  I  thought  I  could  deal  with  the  supreme 
question  of  life  as  I  had  dealt  with  those  which  half  the 
world  never  think  about  at  all.  I  remember  your  warning, 
aunt;  and  yet,  as  I  said  to  myself  at  the  time,  there  was 
more  of  incentive  than  warning  in  your  words,  flow  self- 
confidently  I  smiled  over  them !  How  perfectly  sure  I  was 
that  I  could  enjoy  this  rare  girl's  society  as  I  would  look 
at  a  painting  or  listen  to  a  symphony !  Almost  before  I  was 
aware,  I  found  a  craving  in  my  heart  which  I  now  know 
all  the  world  cannot  satisfy.  That  June  day  which  you 
arranged  so  kindly  in  my  behalf  made  all  as  clear  as  the 
cloudless  sun  that  shone  upon  us.  That  day  I  was  revealed 
fully  unto  myself,  but  my  hope  was  strong,  for  I  felt  that 
by  the  very  law  and  correspondence  of  nature  I  could  not 
have  such  an  immeasurable  need  without  having  that  need 
supplied.  In  my  impatience  I  left  my  business  unfinished 
and  returned  this  evening,  for  I  could  not  endure  another 
hour  of  delay.  She  seemed  to  answer  my  glad  looks  when 
we  met;  she  gave  her  hand  in  cordial  welcome.  I,  blinded 
by  feeling,  and  thinking  that  its  very  intensity  must  awaken 
a  like  return,  stood  speechless,  almost  overwhelmed  by  my 
transcendent  hope.  She  interpreted  my  manner  naturally 
by  what  was  uppermost  in  her  mind,  and  exclaimed:  'He 
has  told  you — he  has  written.'  In  a  moment  I  knew  the 
truth,  and  I  scarcely  think  that  a  knife  piercing  my  heart 
could  inflict  a  deeper  pang.  I  could  not  rally  for  a  moment 
or  two.  When  shall  I  forget  the  sympathy — the  tears  that 
dimmed  her  dear  eyes!  I  have  a  religion  at  last,  and  I  wor 
ship  the  divine  nature  of  that  complete  woman.  The  thought 
that  I  made  her  suffer  aroused  my  manhood;  and  from  that 
moment  I  strove  to  make  light  of  the  affair — to  give  the  im 
pression  that  she  was  taking  it  more  seriously  than  I  did. 
I  even  tried  to  pique  her  pride — I  could  not  wound  her 
vanity,  for  she  has  none — and  I  partially  succeeded.  My 
task,  however,  was  and  will  be  a  difficult  one,  for  her 
organization  is  so  delicate  and  fine  that  she  feels  what  she 


THE   KINSHIP   OF  SUFFERING  81 

cannot  see.  But  I  made  her  laugh  in  spite  of  herself  at  my 
prudent,  wary  wooing.  I  removed,  1  think,  all  constraint, 
and  we  can  meet  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  Not  that  we 
can  meet  often — that  would  tax  me  beyond  my  strength — 
but  often  enough  to  banish  solicitude  from  her  mind  and 
from  Hilland's.  Now  you  know  the  facts  sufficiently  to 
become  a  shrewd  and  efficient  ally.  By  all  your  regard 
for  me — what  is  far  more,  by  all  your  love  for  her — I  en 
treat  you  let  me  bring  no  cloud  across  her  bright  sky. 
We  are  going  over  to  whist  as  usual  to-night.  Let  all 
be  as  usual." 

"Heaven  bless  you,  Alford!"  faltered  his  aunt,  with 
tearful  eyes. 

"Heaven!  what  a  mockery !  Even  the  lichen,  the  insect, 
lives  a  complete  life,  while  we,  with  all  our  reason,  so  often 
blunder,  fail,  and  miss  that  which  is  essential  to  exist 
ence." 

Mrs.  May  burn  shook  her  head  slowly  and  thoughtfully, 
and  then  said:  "This  very  fact  should  teach  us  that  our 
philosophy  of  life  is  false.  We  are  both  materialists — I 
from  the  habit  of  living  for  this  world  only;  you,  I  sup 
pose,  from  mistaken  reasoning;  but  in  hours  like  these  the 
mist  is  swept  aside,  and  I  feel,  I  know,  that  this  life  cannot, 
must  not,  be  all  in  all." 

"Oh,  hush!"  cried  Graham,  desperately.  "To  cease  to 
exist  and  therefore  to  suffer,  may  become  the  best  one  can 
hope  for.  Were  it  not  cowardly,  I  would  soon  end  it 
all." 

"You  may  well  use  the  word  'cowardly,'  "  said  his  aunt 
in  strong  emphasis;  "and  brave  Grace  St.  John  would  re 
volt  at  and  despise  such  cowardice  by  every  law  of  her 
nature." 

"Do  not  fear.  I  hope  never  to  do  anything  to  forfeit 
her  respect,  except  it  is  for  the  sake  of  her  own  happiness, 
as  when  to-day  I  tried  to  make  her  think  my  veins  were 
filled  with  ice-water  instead  of  blood.  Come,  I  have  kept 
you  far  too  long.  Let  us  go  through  the  formality  of  sup- 


82  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

per;  and  then  I  will  prove  to  you  that  if  I  have  been  weak 
here  I  can  be  strong  for  her  sake.  I  do  not  remember  my 
mother;  but  nature  is  strong,  and  I  suppose  there  comes 
a  time  in  every  one's  life  when  he  must  speak  to  some  one 
as  he  would  to  a  mother.  You  have  been  very  kind,  dear 
aunt,  and  I  shall  never  forget  that  you  have  wished  and 
schemed  for  my  happiness. ' ' 

The  old  lady  came  and  put  her  arm  around  the  young 
man's  neck  and  looked  into  his  face  with  a  strange  wistful- 
ness  as  she  said,  slowly:  "There  is  no  blood  relationship 
between  us,  Alford,  but  we  are  nearer  akin  than  such  ties 
could  make  us.  You  do  not  remember  your  mother;  I 
never  had  a  child.  But,  as  you  say,  nature  is  strong;  and 
although  I  have  tried  to  satisfy  myself  with  a  hundred 
things,  the  mother  in  my  heart  has  never  been  content. 
I  hoped,  I  prayed,  that  you  and  Grace  might  become  my 
children.  Alford,  I  have  been  learning  of  late  that  I  am 
a  lonely,  unhappy  old  woman.  Will  you  not  be  my  boy  ? 
I  would  rather  share  your  sorrow  than  be  alone  in  the  world 
again." 

Graham  was  deeply  touched.  He  bowed  his  head  upon 
her  shoulder  as  if  he  were  her  son,  and  a  few  hot  tears  fell 
from  his  eyes.  "Yes,  aunt,"  he  said,  in  a  low  tone,  "you 
have  won  the  right  to  ask  anything  that  I  can  give.  Fate, 
in  denying  us  both  what  our  hearts  most  craved,  has  indeed 
made  us  near  akin;  and  there  can  be  an  unspoken  sym 
pathy  between  us  that  may  have  a  sustaining  power  that 
we  cannot  now  know.  You  have  already  taken  the  bitter 
ness,  the  despair  out  of  my  sorrow;  and  should  I  go  to  the 
ends  of  the  earth  I  shall  be  the  better  for  having  you  to 
think  of  and  care  for." 

"And  you  feel  that  you  cannot  remain  here,  Al 
ford?" 

"No,  aunt,  that  is  now  impossible;  that  is,  for  the 
present. ' ' 

"Yes,  I  suppose  it  is,"  she  admitted,  sadly. 

"Come,  aunty  dear,  I  promised  Miss  St.  John  that  we 


THE   KINSHIP  OF  SUFFERING  88 

would  go  over  as  usual  to-night,  and  i  would  not  for  the 
world  break  my  word. ' ' 

"Then  we  shall  go  at  once.  We  shall  have  a  nice  little 
supper  on  our  return.  Neither  of  us  is  in  the  mood  for  it 
now." 

After  a  hasty  toilet  Graham  joined  his  aunt.  She  looked 
at  him,  and  had  no  fears. 


84  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 


CHAPTER   XI 

THE   ORDEAL 

GRACE  met  them  at  the  door.  "It  is  very  kind  of 
you,"  she  said,  "to  come  over  this  evening  after  a 
fatiguing  journey." 

"Very,"  he  replied,  laughingly;  "a  ride  of  fifty  miles  in 
the  cars  should  entitle  one  to  a  week's  rest. " 

"I  hope  you  are  going  to  take  it." 

"Oh,  no;  my  business  man  in  New  Y"ork  has  at  last 
aroused  me  to  heroic  action.  With  only  the  respite  of  a 
few  hours'  sleep  I  shall  venture  upon  the  cars  again  and 
plunge  into  all  the  perils  and  excitements  of  a  real  estate 
speculation.  My  property  is  going  up,  and  'there's  a  tide,' 
you  know,  'which,  taken  at  its  flood — '  ' 

"Leads  away  from  your  friends.  I  see  that  it  is  useless 
for  us  to  protest,  for  when  did  a  man  ever  give  up  a  chance 
for  speculation  ?' ' 

"Then  it  is  not  the  fault  of  man:  we  merely  obey  a  gen 
eral  law." 

"That  is  the  way  with  you  scientists,"  she  said  with  a 
piquant  nod  and  smile.  "You  do  just  as  you  please,  but 
you  are  always  obeying  some  profound  law  that  we  poor 
mortals  know  nothing  about.  We  don't  fall  back  upon  the 
arrangements  of  the  universe  for  our  motives,  do  we,  Mrs. 
May  burn?" 

"Indeed  we  don't,"  was  the  brusque  response.  "  'When 
she  will,  she  will,  and  when  she  won't,  she  won't,'  answers 
for  us." 

"Grace!    Mrs.   Mayburn!"    called  the  major  from  the 


THE    ORDEAL  85 

parlor;  "if  you  don't  come  soon  I'll  order  out  the  guard 
and  have  you  brought  in.  Mr.  Graham,"  he  continued,  as 
the  young  man  hastened  to  greet  him,  "you  are  as  welcome 
as  a  leave  of  absence.  We  have  had  no  whist  since  you  left 
us,  and  we  are  nearly  an  hour  behind  time  to-night.  Mrs. 
Mayburn,  your  humble  servant.  Excuse  me  for  not  rising. 
Why  the  deuce  my  gout  should  trouble  me  again  just  now 
i  can't  see.  I've  not  seen  you  since  that  juvenile  picnic 
which  seemed  to  break  up  all  our  regular  habits.  I  never 
thought  that  you  would  desert  me.  I  suppose  Mr.  Graham 
carries  a  roving  commission  and  can't  be  disciplined.  I 
propose,  however,  that  we  set  to  at  once  and  put  the  hour 
we've  lost  at  the  other  end  of  the  evening." 

It  was  evident  that  the  major  was  in  high  spirits,  in 
spite  of  his  catalogue  of  ills;  and  in  fact  his  daughter's  en 
gagement  had  been  extremely  satisfactory  to  him.  Con 
scious  of  increasing  age  and  infirmity,  he  was<  delighted 
that  Grace  had  chosen  one  so  abundantly  able  to  take  care 
of  her  and  of  him  also.  For  the  last  few  days  he  had  been 
in  an  amiable  mood,  for  he  felt  that  fortune  had  dealt  kindly 
by  him.  His  love  for  his  only  child  was  the  supreme  affec 
tion  of  his  heart,  and  she  by  her  choice  had  fulfilled  his  best 
hopes.  Her  future  was  provided  for  and  safe.  Then  from 
the  force  of  long  habit  he  thought  next  of  himself.  If  his 
tastes  were  not  luxurious,  he  had  at  least  a  strong  liking  for 
certain  luxuries,  and  to  these  he  would  gladly  add  a  few 
more  did  his  means  permit.  He  was  a  connoisseur  in  wines 
and  the  pleasures  of  the  table — not  that  he  had  any  tenden 
cies  toward  excess,  but  he  delighted  to  sip  the  great  wines 
of  the  world,  to  expatiate  on  their  age,  character,  and  origin. 
Sometimes  he  would  laughingly  say,  "Never  dilate  on  the 
treasures  bequeathed  to  us  by  the  old  poets,  sages,  and  ar 
tists,  but  for  inspiration  and  consolation  give  me  a  bottle  of 
old,  old  wine — wine  made  from  grapes  that  ripened  before  I 
was  born." 

He  was  too  upright  a  man,  however,  to  gratify  these 
tastes  beyond  his  means;  but  Grace  was  an  indulgent  and 


86  HIS    SOMBRE    RIVALS 

skilful  housekeeper,  and  made  their  slender  income  min 
ister  to  her  father's  pleasure  in  a  way  that  surprised  even 
her  practical  friend,  Mrs.  Mayburn.  In  explanation  she 
would  laughingly  say,  "I  regard  housekeeping  as  a  fine 
art.  The  more  limited  your  materials  the  greater  the 
genius  required  for  producing  certain  results.  Now,  I'm 
a  genius,  Mrs.  Mayburn.  You  wouldn't  dream  it,  would 
you  ?  Papa  sometimes  has  a  faint  consciousness  of  the  fact 
when  he  finds  on  his  table  wines  and  dishes  of  which  he 
knows  the  usual  cost.  'My  dear,'  he  will  say  severely,  'is 
this  paid  for?'  'Yes,'  I  reply,  meekly.  'How  did  you 
manage  it?'  Then  I  stand  upon  my  dignity,  and  reply 
with  offended  majesty,  'Papa,  I  am  housekeeper.  You  are 
too  good  a  soldier  to  question  the  acts  of  your  superior  offi 
cer.  '  Then  he  makes  me  a  most  profound  bow  and  apol 
ogy,  and  rewards  me  amply  by  his  almost  childlike  enjoy 
ment  of  what  after  all  has  only  cost  me  a  little  undetected 
economy  and  skill  in  cookery." 

But  the  major  was  not  so  blind  as  he  appeared  to  be. 
He  knew  more  of  her  "undetected"  economies,  which  usu» 
ally  came  out  of  her  allowance,  than  she  supposed,  and  his 
conscience  often  reproached  him  for  permitting  them;  but 
since  they  appeared  to  give  her  as  much  pleasure  as  they 
afforded  him,  he  had  let  them  pass.  It  is  hard  for  a  petted 
and  weary  invalid  to  grow  in  self-denial.  While  the  old 
gentleman  would  have  starved  rather  than  angle  for  Hil- 
land  or  plead  his  cause  by  a  word — he  had  given  his  consent 
to  the  young  man's  addresses  with  the  mien  of  a  major-gen 
eral — he  nevertheless  foresaw  that  wealth  as  the  ally  of  his 
daughter's  affection  would  make  him  one  of  the  most  dis 
criminating  and  fastidious  gourmands  in  the  land. 

In  spite  of  his  age  and  infirmity  the  old  soldier  was  ex 
ceedingly  fond  of  travel  and  of  hotel  life.  He  missed  the 
varied  associations  of  the  army.  Pain  he  had  to  endure 
much  of  the  time,  and  from  it  there  was  no  escape.  Change 
of  place,  scene,  and  companionship  diverted  his  mind,  and 
he  partially  forgot  his  sufferings.  As  we  have  shown,  he 


THE   ORDEAL  87 

was  a  devourer  of  newspapers,  but  he  enjoyed  the  world's 
gossip  far  more  when  he  could  talk  it  over  with  others,  and 
maintain  on  the  questions  of  the  day  half  a  dozen  good-na 
tured  controversies.  When  at  the  seashore  the  previous 
summer  he  had  fought  scores  of  battles  for  his  favorite 
measures  with  other  ancient  devotees  of  the  newspaper. 
Grace  had  made  Graham  laugh  many  a  time  by  her  inimi 
table  descriptions  of  the  quaint  tilts  and  chaffings  of  these 
gray  beards,  as  each  urged  the  views  of  his  favorite  journals; 
and  then  she  would  say,  "You  ought  to  see  them  sit  down 
to  whist.  Such  prolonged  and  solemn  sittings  upset  my 
gravity  more  than  all  their  bric-d-brac  jokes."  And  then 
she  had  sighed  and  said,  "I  wish  we  could  have  remained 
longer,  for  papa  improved  so  much  and  was  so  happy." 

The  time  was  coming  when  he  could  stay  longer — as  long 
as  he  pleased — for  whatever  pleased  her  father  would  please 
Grace,  and  would  have  to  please  her  husband.  Her  mother 
when  dying  had  committed  the  old  man  to  her  care,  and  a 
sacred  obligation  had  been  impressed  upon  her  childish  mind 
which  every  year  had  strengthened. 

As  we  have  seen,  Grace  had  given  her  heart  to  HilJand 
by  a  compulsion  which  she  scarcely  understood  herself.  No 
thrifty  calculations  had  had  the  slightest  influence  in  bring 
ing  the  mysterious  change  of  feeling  that  had  been  a  daily 
surprise  to  the  young  girl.  She  had  turned  to  Hilland  as 
the  flower  turns  to  the  sun,  with  scarcely  more  than  the 
difference  that  she  was  conscious  that  she  was  turning. 
When  at  last  she  ceased  to  wonder  at  the  truth  that  her  life 
had  become  blended  with  that  of  another — for,  as  her  love 
developed,  this  union  seemed  the  most  natural  and  inevi 
table  thing  in  the  world — she  began  to  think  of  Hilland  more 
than  of  herself,  and  of  the  changes  which  her  new  relations 
would  involve.  It  became  one  of  the  purest  sources  of  her 
happiness  that  she  would  eventually  have  the  means  of  grat 
ifying  every  taste  and  whim  of  her  father,  and  could  sur 
round  him  with  all  the  comforts  which  his  age  and  infirmi 
ties  permitted  him  to  enjoy. 


88  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

Thus  the  engagement  ring  on  Miss  St.  John's  finger  had 
its  heights  and  depths  of  meaning  to  both  father  and  daugh 
ter;  and  its  bright  golden  hue  pervaded  all  the  prospects 
and  possibilities — the  least  as  well  as  the  greatest — of  the  fu 
ture.  It  was  but  a  plain,  heavy  circlet  of  gold,  and  looked 
like  a  wedding-ring.  Such  to  Graham  it  seemed  to  be,  as 
its  sheen  flashed  upon  his  eyes  during  their  play,  which 
continued  for  two  hours  or  more,  with  scarcely  a  remark  or 
an  interruption  beyond  the  requirements  of  the  game.  The 
old  major  loved  this  complete  and  scientific  absorption,  and 
Grace  loved  to  humor  him.  Moreover,  she  smiled  more 
than  once  at  Graham's  intentness.  Never  had  he  played 
so  well,  and  her  father  had  to  put  forth  all  his  veteran  skill 
and  experience  to  hold  his  own.  "To  think  that  I  shed 
tears  over  his  disappointment,  when  a  game  of  whist  can 
console  him!"  she  thought.  "How  different  he  is  from  his 
friend !  I  suppose  that  is  the  reason  that  they  are  such 
friends — they  are  so  unlike.  The  idea  of  Warren  playing 
with  that  quiet,  steady  hand  and  composed  face  under  like 
circumstances!  And  yet,  why  is  he  so  pale?" 

Mrs.  Mayburn  understood  this  pallor  too  well,  and  she 
felt  that  the  ordeal  had  lasted  long  enough.  She,  too,  had 
acted  her  part  admirably,  but  now  she  pleaded  fatigue,  say 
ing  that  she  had  not  been  very  well  for  the  last  day  or  two. 
She  was  inscrutable  to  Grace,  and  caused  no  misgivings.  It 
is  easier  for  a  woman  than  for  a  man  to  hide  emotions  from 
a  woman,  and  Mrs.  Mayburn's  gray  eyes  and  strong  features 
rarely  revealed  anything  that  she  meant  to  conceal.  The 
major  acquiesced  good-naturedly,  saying,  "You  are  quite 
right  to  stop,  Mrs.  Mayburn,  and  I  surely  have  no  cause  to 
complain.  We  have  had  more  play  in  two  hours  than  most 
people  have  in  two  weeks..  1  congratulate  you,  Mr.  Gra 
ham;  you  are  becoming  a  foeman  worthy  of  any  man's  steel. " 

Graham  rose  with  the  relief  which  a  man  would  feel  on 
leaving  the  rack,  and  said,  smilingly,  "Your  enthusiasm  is 
contagious.  Any  man  would  soon  be  on  his  mettle  who 
played  often  with  you." 


THE   ORDEAL  89 

"Is  enthusiasm  one  of  your  traits?"  Grace  asked,  with 
an  arch  smile  over  her  shoulder,  as  she  went  to  ring  the 
bell. 

"What!     Have  you  not  remarked  it?" 

"Grace  has  been  too  preoccupied  to  remark  anything — 
sly  puss!"  said  the  major,  laughing  heartily.  "My  dear 
Mrs.  Mayburn,  I  shall  ask  for  your  congratulations  to 
night.  I  know  we  shall  have  yours,  Mr.  Graham,  for 
Grace  has  informed  me  that  Hilland  is  your  best  and  near 
est  friend.  This  little  girl  of  mine  has  been  playing  blind- 
man's-buff  with  her  old  father.  She  thought  she  had  the 
handkerchief  tight  over  my  eyes,  but  I  always  keep  one 
corner  raised  a  little.  Well,  Mr.  Graham,  this  dashing 
friend  of  yours,  who  thinks  he  can  carry  all  the  world 
by  storm,  asked  me  last  summer  if  he  could  lay  siege  to 
Grace.  I  felt  like  wringing  his  neck  for  his  audacity  and 
selfishness.  The  idea  of  any  one  taking  Grace  from  me!" 

"And  no  one  shall,  papa,"  said  Grace,  hiding  her  blush 
ing  face  behind  his  white  shock  of  hair.  "But  I  scarcely 
think  these  details  will  interest — " 

"What!"  cried  the  bluff,  frank  old  soldier — "not  inter 
est  Mrs.  Mayburn,  the  best  and  kindest  of  neighbors  ?  not 
interest  Hilland's  alter  ego?1' 

"I  assure  you,"  said  Graham,  laughing,  "that  I  am 
deeply  interested;  and  I  promise  you,  Miss  Grace,  that  I 
shall  give  Hilland  a  severer  curtain  lecture  than  he  will 
ever  receive  from  you,  because  he  has  left  me  in  the  dark 
so  long." 

"Stop  pinching  my  arm,"  cried  the  major,  who  was  in 
one  of  his  jovial  moods,  and  often  immensely  enjoyed  teas 
ing  his  daughter.  "You  may  well  hide  behind  me.  Mrs. 
Mayburn,  I'm  going  to  expose  a  rank  case  of  filial  deception 
that  was  not  in  the  least  successful.  This  'I  came,  I  saw,  I 
conquered'  friend  of  yours,  Mr.  Graham,  soon  discovered 
that  he  was  dealing  with  a  race  that  was  not  in  the  habit  of 
surrendering.  But  your  friend,  like  Wellington,  never 
knew  when  he  was  beaten.  He  wouldn't  retreat  an  inch, 


00  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

but  drawing  his  lines  as  close  as  he  dared,  sat  down  to  a 
regular  siege." 

Graham  again  laughed  outright,  and  with  a  comical 
glance  at  the  young  girl,  asked,  "Are  you  sure,  sir,  that 
Miss  St.  John  was  aware  of  these  siege  operations?" 

"Indeed  she  was.  Your  friend  raised  his  flag  at  once, 
and  nailed  it  to  the  staff.  And  this  little  minx  thought 
that  she  could  deceive  an  old  soldier  like  myself  by  play 
ing  the  role  of  disinterested  friend  to  a  lonely  young  man 
condemned  to  the  miseries  of  a  mining  town.  I  was  often 
tempted  to  ask  her  why  she  did  not  extend  her  sympathy  to 
scores  of  young  fellows  in  the  service  who  are  in  danger  of 
being  scalped  every  day.  But  the  joke  of  it  was  that  I  knew 
she  was  undermined  and  must  surrender  long  before  Hilland 
did." 

"Now,  papa,  it's  too  bad  of  you  to  expose  me  in  this 
style.  I  appeal  to  Mrs.  May  burn  if  I  did  not  keep  my  flag 
flying  so  defiantly  to  the  last  that  even  she  did  not  suspect 
me." 

"Yes,"  said  the  old  lady,  dryly;  "I  can  testify  to  that." 

"Which  is  only  another  proof  of  my  penetration," 
chuckled  the  major.  "Well,  well,  it  is  so  seldom  I  can 
get  ahead  of  Grace  in  anything  that  I  like  to  make  the  most 
of  my  rare  good  fortune;  and  it  seems,  Mr.  Graham,  as  if 
you  and  your  aunt  had  already  become  a  part  of  our  present 
and  prospective  home  circle.  I  have  seen  a  letter  in  which 
Warren  speaks  of  you  in  a  way  that  reminds  me  of  a  friend 
who  was  shot  almost  at  my  side  in  a  fight  with  the  Indians. 
That  was  nearly  half  a  century  ago,  and  yet  no  one  has 
taken  his  place.  With  men,  friendships  mean  something, 
and  last." 

"Come,  come,"  cried  Mrs.  May  burn,  bristling  up,  "nei 
ther  Grace  nor  1  will  permit  such  an  implied  slur  upon  our 
sex." 

"My  friendship  for  Hilland  will  last,"  said  Graham,  with 
quiet  emphasis.  "Most  young  men  are  drawn  together  by 
a  mutual  liking — by  something  congenial  in  their  natures. 


THE    ORDEAL  91 

I  owe  him  a  debt  of  gratitude  that  can  never  be  repaid. 
He  found  me  a  lonely,  neglected  boy,  who  had  scarcely 
ever  known  kindness,  much  less  affection,  and  his  ardent, 
generous  nature  became  an  antidote  to  my  gloomy  tenden 
cies.  From  the  first  he  has  been  a  constant  and  faithful 
friend.  He  has  not  one  unworthy  trait.  But  there  is  noth 
ing  negative  about  him,  for  he  abounds  in  the  best  and  most 
manly  qualities;  and  I  think,"  he  concluded,  speaking 
slowly  and  deliberately,  as  if  he  were  making  an  inward 
vow,  "that  1  shall  prove  worthy  of  his  trust  and  regard." 

Grace  looked  at  him  earnestly  and  gratefully,  and  the 
thought  again  asserted  itself  that  she  had  not  yet  gauged 
his  character  or  his  feeling  toward  herself.  To  her  surprise 
she  also  noted  that  Mrs.  Mayburn's  eyes  were  filled  with 
tears,  but  the  old  lady  was  equal  to  the  occasion,  and  mis 
led  her  by  saying,  "I  feel  condemned,  Alford,  that  you 
should  have  been  so  lonely  and  neglected  in  early  life,  but 
1  know  it  was  so." 

"Oh,  well,  aunt,  you  know  I  was  not  an  interesting  boy, 
and  had  I  been  imposed  upon  you  in  my  hobbledehoy 
period,  our  present  relations  might  never  have  existed.  I 
must  ask  your  congratulations  also,"  he  continued,  turning 
toward  the  major  and  his  daughter.  "My  aunt  and  I  have 
in  a  sense  adopted  each  other.  I  came  hither  to  pay  her 
a  formal  call,  and  have  made  another  very  dear  friend." 

"Have  you  made  only  one  friend  since  you  became  our 
neighbor? "  asked  Grace,  with  an  accent  of  reproach  in  her 
voice. 

"I  would  very  gladly  claim  you  and  your  father  as  such," 
he  replied,  smilingly. 

The  old  major  arose  with  an  alacrity  quite  surprising  in 
view  of  his  lameness,  and  pouring  out  two  glasses  of  the  wine 
that  Jinny  had  brought  in  answer  to  Grace's  touch  of  the 
bell,  he  gave  one  of  the  glasses  to  Graham,  and  with  the 
other  in  his  left  hand,  he  said,  "And  here  I  pledge  you 
the  word  of  a  soldier  that  I  acknowledge  the  claim  in 
full,  not  only  for  Hilland's  sake,  but  your  own.  You  have 


02  HIS   SOMBRE    RIVALS 

generously  sought  to  beguile  the  tedium  of  a  crotchety  and 
irritable  old  man;  but  such  as  he  is  he  gives  you  his  hand 
as  a  true,  stanch  friend ;  and  Grace  knows  this  means  a  great 
deal  with  me." 

"Yes,  indeed,"  she  cried.  "I  declare,  papa,  you  almost 
make  me  jealous.  You  treated  Warren  as  if  you  were  the 
Great  Mogul,  and  he  but  a  presuming  subject.  Mr.  Gra 
ham,  if  so  many  new  friends  are  not  an  embarrassment 
of  riches,  will  you  give  me  a  little  niche  among  them?'* 

"I  cannot  give  you  that  which  is  yours  already,"  he 
replied;  "nor  have  I  a  little  niche  for  you.  You  have 
become  identified  with  Hilland,  you  know,  and  therefore 
require  a  large  space." 

"Now,  see  here,  my  good  friends,  you  are  making  too 
free  with  my  own  peculiar  property.  You  are  already  rich 
in  each  other,  not  counting  Mr.  Hilland,  who,  according  to 
Alford,  seems  to  embody  all  human  excellence.  I  have 
only  this  philosophical  nephew,  and  even  with  him  shall 
find  a  rival  in  every  book  he  can  lay  hands  upon.  I  shall 
therefore  carry  him  off.  at  once,  especially  as  he  is  to  be 
absent  several  days." 

The  major  protested  against  his  absence,  and  was  cor 
diality  itself  in  his  parting  words. 

Grace  followed  them  out  on  the  moonlit  piazza.  "Mr. 
Graham,"  she  said,  hesitatingly,  "you  will  not  be  absent 
very  long,  I  trust." 

"Oh,  no,"  he  replied,  lightly;  "only  two  or  three  weeks. 
In  addition  to  my  affairs  in  the  city,  I  have  some  business 
in  Vermont,  and  while  there  shall  follow  down  some  well- 
remembered  trout- streams." 

She  turned  slightly  away,  and  buried  her  face  in  a  spray 
of  roses  from  the  bush  that  festooned  the  porch.  He  saw 
that  a  tinge  of  color  was  in  her  cheeks,  as  she  said  in  a  low 
tone,  "You  should  not  be  absent  long;  I  think  your  friend 
will  soon  visit  us,  and  you  should  be  here  to  welcome  him," 
and  she  glanced  hastily  toward  him.  Was  it  the  moonlight 
that  made  him  look  so  very  pale  ?  His  eyes  held  hers. 


THE   ORDEAL  93 

Mrs.  Mayburn  had  walked  slowly  on,  and  seemingly  he  had 
iorgotten  her.  The  young  girl's  eyes  soon  fell  before  his 
fixed  gaze,  and  her  face  grew  troubled.  He  started,  and 
said  lightly,  "I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Grace,  bat  you  have 
no  idea  what  a  picture  you  make  with  the  aid  of  those  roses. 
The  human  face  in  clear  moonlight  reveals  character,  it  is 
said,  and  1  again  congratulate  my  friend  without  a  shadow 
of  doubt.  Unversed  as  I  am  in  such  matters,  I  am  quite 
satisfied  that  Hilland  will  need  no  other  welcome  than 
yours,  and  that  he  will  be  wholly  content  with  it  for  some 
time  to  come.  Moreover,  when  1  find  myself  among  the 
trout,  there's  no  telling  when  I  shall  get  out  of  the  woods." 

4 '  Is  fishing,  then,  one  of  your  ruling  passions  ?' '  the  young 
girl  asked,  with  an  attempt  to  resume  her  old  piquant  style 
of  talk  with  him. 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  laughing,  so  that  his  aunt  might  hear 
him;  "but  when  one's  passions  are  of  so  mild  a  type  one 
may  be  excused  for  having  a  half-dozen.  Good- by!" 

She  stepped  forward  and  held  out  her  hand.  "You  have 
promised  to  be  my  friend,"  she  said,  gently. 

His  hand  trembled  in  her  grasp  as  he  said  quietly  and 
firmly,  "I  will  keep  my  promise." 

She  looked  after  him  wistfully,  as  she  thought,  "I'm  not 
sure  about  him.  I  hope  it's  only  a  passing  disappointment, 
for  we  should  not  like  to  think  that  our  happiness  had 
brought  him  wretchedness." 


94  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 


CHAPTER   XII 

FLIGHT     TO     NATURE 

GEAH AM  found  his  aunt  waiting  for  him  on  the  rustic 
seat  beneath  the  apple-tree.  Here,  a  few  hours  be 
fore,  his  heart  elate  with  hope,  he  had  hastened 
forward  to  meet  Grace  St.  John.  Ages  seemed  to  have 
passed  since  that  moment  of  bitter  disappointment,  teach 
ing  him  how  relative  a  thing  is  time. 

The  old  lady  joined  him  without  a  word,  and  they  passed 
on  silently  to  the  house.  As  they  entered,  she  said,  trying 
to  infuse  into  the  commonplace  words  something  of  her 
sympathy  and  affection,  "Now  we  will  have  a  cosey  little 
supper." 

Graham  placed  his  hand  upon  her  arm,  and  detained 
her,  as  he  replied,  "No,  aunt;  please  get  nothing  for  me. 
I  must  hide  myself  for  a  few  hours  from  even  your  kind 
eyes.  Do  not  think  me  weak  or  unmanly.  I  shall  soon  get 
the  reins  well  in  hand,  and  shall  then  be  quiet  enough." 

"I  think  your  self-control  has  been  admirable  this 
evening." 

"It  was  the  self-control  of  sheer,  desperate  force,  and 
only  partial  at  that.  I  know  I  must  have  been  almost 
ghostly  in  my  pallor.  I  have  felt  pale — as  if  I  were  bleed 
ing  to  death.  I  did  not  mean  to  take  her  hand  in  parting, 
for  I  could  not  trust  myself;  but  she  held  it  out  so  kindly 
that  I  had  to  give  mine,  which,  in  spite  of  my  whole  will 
power,  trembled.  I  troubled  and  perplexed  her.  I  have 
infused  an  element  of  sorrow  and  bitterness  into  her  happy 
love;  for  in  the  degree  in  which  it  gives  her  joy  she  will 


FLIGHT   TO   NATURE  95 

fear  that  it  brings  the  heartache  to  me,  and  she  is  too  good 
and  kind  not  to  care.  I  must  go  away  and  not  return  until 
my  face  is  bronzed  and  my  nerves  are  steel.  Oh,  aunt!  you 
cannot  understand  me;  I  scarcely  understand  myself.  It 
seems  as  if  all  the  love  that  I  might  have  given  to  many 
in  the  past,  had  my  life  been  like  that  of  others,  had  been 
accumulating  for  this  hopeless,  useless  waste — this  worse 
than  waste,  since  it  only  wounds  and  pains  its  object." 

"And  do  I  count  for  so  little,  Alford  ?" 

"You  count  for  more  now  than  all  others  save  one;  and 
if  you  knew  how  contrary  this  utter  unreserve  is  to  my 
nature  and  habit,  you  would  understand  how  perfect  is 
my  confidence  in  you  and  how  deep  is  my  affection.  But 
1  am  learning  with  a  sort  of  dull,  dreary  astonishment  that 
there  are  heights  and  depths  of  experience  of  which  I  once 
had  not  the  faintest  conception.  This  is  a  kind  of  battle 
that  one  must  fight  out  alone.  I  must  go  away  and  accus 
tom  myself  to  a  new  condition  of  life.  But  do  not  worry 
about  me.  I  shall  come  back  a  vertebrate;"  and  he  tried 
to  summon  a  reassuring  smile,  as  he  kissed  her  in  parting. 

That  night  Graham  faced  his  trouble,  and  decided  upon 
his  future  course. 

After  an  early  breakfast  the  next  morning,  the  young 
man  bade  his  aunt  good- by.  With  moist  eyes,  she  said, 
"Alford,  I  am  losing  you,  just  as  I  find  how  much  you 
are  and  can  be  to  me." 

"No,  aunty  dear;  my  course  will  prove  best  for  us  both," 
he  replied,  gently.  "You  would  not  be  happy  if  you  saw 
me  growing  more  sad  and  despairing  every  day  through  in 
action,  and — and — well,  I  could  never  become  strong  and 
calm  with  that  cottage  there  just  beyond  the  trees.  You 
have  not  lost  me,  for  I  shall  try  to  prove  a  good  corre 
spondent." 

Graham  kept  his  word.  His  "real  estate  speculation" 
did  not  detain  him  long  in  the  city,  for  his  business  agent 
was  better  able  to  manage  such  interests  than  the  inexperi 
enced  student;  and  soon  a  letter  dated  among  the  mountains 


96  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

and  the  trout  streams  of  Vermont  assured  Mrs.  Mayburn 
that  he  had  carried  out  his  intentions.  Not  long  after,  a 
box  with  a  score  of  superb  fish  followed  the  letter,  and 
Major  St.  John's  name  was  pinned  on  some  of  the  largest 
and  finest.  During  the  next  fortnight  these  trophies  of  his 
sport  continued  to  arrive  at  brief  intervals,  and  they  were 
accompanied  by  letters,  giving  in  almost  journal  form 
graphic  descriptions  of  the  streams  he  had  fished,  their 
surrounding  scenery,  and  the  amusing  peculiarities  of  the 
natives.  There  was  not  a  word  that  suggested  the  cause 
that  had  driven  him  so  suddenly  into  the  wilderness,  but 
on  every  page  were  evidences  of  tireless  activity. 

The  major  was  delighted  with  the  trout,  and  enjoyed 
a  high  feast  almost  every  day.  Mrs.  Mayburn,  imagining 
that  she  had  divined  Graham's  wish,  read  from  his  letters 
glowing  extracts  which  apparently  revealed  an  enthusiastic 
sportsman. 

After  his  departure  Grace  had  resumed  her  frequent  vis 
its  to  her  congenial  old  friend,  and  confidence  having  now 
been  given  in  respect  to  her  absent  lover,  the  young  girl 
spoke  of  him  out  of  the  abundance  of  her  heart.  Mrs.  May- 
burn  tried  to  be  all  interest  and  sympathy,  but  Grace  was 
puzzled  by  something  in  her  manner — something  not  absent 
when  she  was  reading  Graham's  letters.  One  afternoon  she 
said:  "Tell  your  father  that  he  may  soon  expect  something 
extraordinarily  fine,  for  Alford  has  written  me  of  a  twenty- 
mile  tramp  through  the  mountains  to  a  stream  almost  un 
known  and  inaccessible." 

"Won't  you  read  the  description  to  us  this  evening? 
You  have  no  idea  how  much  pleasure  papa  takes  in  Mr. 
Graham's  letters.  He  says  they  increase  the  gamy  flavor 
of  the  fish  he  enjoys  so  much;  and  I  half  believe  that  Mr. 
Graham  in  this  indirect  and  delicate  way  is  still  seeking  to 
amuse  my  father,  and  so  compensate  him  for  his  absence. 
Warren  will  soon  be  here,  however,  and  then  we  can  resume 
our  whist  parties.  Do  you  know  that  I  am  almost  jealous  ? 
Papa  talks  more  of  Vermont  woods  than  of  Western  mines. 


FLIGHT   TO   NATURE  97 

You  ought  to  hear  him  expatiate  upon  the  trout.  He  seems 
to  follow  Mr.  Graham  up  and  down  every  stream;  and  he 
explains  to  me  with  the  utmost  minuteness  just  how  the  flies 
are  cast  and  just  where  they  were  probably  thrown  to  snare 
the  speckled  beauties.  By  the  way,  Mr.  Graham  puzzles 
me.  He  seems  to  be  the  most  indefatigable  sportsman  I 
ever  heard  of.  But  I  should  never  have  suspected  it  from 
the  tranquil  weeks  he  spent  with  us.  He  seemed  above  all 
things  a  student  of  the  most  quiet  and  intellectual  tastes, 
one  who  could  find  more  pleasure  in  a  library  and  labora 
tory  than  in  all  the  rest  of  the  world  together.  Suddenly 
he  develops  into  the  most  ardent  disciple  of  Izaak  Walton. 
Indeed,  he  is  too  ardent,  too  full  of  restless  activity,  to  be 
a  true  follower  of  the  gentle,  placid  Izaak.  At  his  present 
rate  he  will  soon  overrun  all  Vermont;"  and  she  looked 
search  ingly  at  her  friend. 

A  faint  color  stole  into  the  old  lady's  cheeks,  but  she 
replied,  quietly:  "I  have  learned  to  know  Alford  well 
enough  to  love  him  dearly;  and  yet  you  must  remember 
that  but  a  few  weeks  ago  he  was  a  comparative  stranger  to 
me.  He  certainly  is  giving  us  ample  proof  of  his  sports 
manship,  and  now  that  I  recall  it,  I  remember  hearing  of 
his  fondness  for  solitary  rambles  in  the  woods  when  a  boy." 

"His  descriptions  certainly  prove  that  he  is  familiar  with 
them,"  was  the  young  girl's  answer  to  Mrs.  May  burn's 
words.  Her  inward  comment  on  the  slight  flush  that  ac 
companied  them  was:  "She  knows.  He  has  told  her;  or 
she,  less  blind  than  I,  has  seen."  But  she  felt  that  the 
admission  of  his  love  into  which  Graham  had  been  sur 
prised  was  not  a  topic  for  her  to  introduce,  although  she 
longed  to  be  assured  that  she  had  not  seriously  disturbed 
the  peace  of  her  lover's  friend.  A  day  or  two  later  Hilland 
arrived,  and  her  happiness  was  too  deep,  too  complete,  to 
permit  many  thoughts  of  the  sportsman  in  the  Vermont 
forests.  Nor  did  Hilland 's  brief  but  hearty  expressions  of 
regret  at  Graham's  temporary  absence  impose  upon  her. 
She  saw  that  the  former  was  indeed  more  than  content  with 
E— ROE— XIII 


98  BIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

her  welcome;  that  while  his  friendship  was  a  fixed  star  of 
the  first  magnitude,  it  paled  and  almost  disappeared  before 
the  brightness  and  fulness  of  her  presence.  "Nature,"  in 
deed,  became  "radiant"  to  both  "with  purple  light,  the 
morning  and  the  night  varied  enchantments." 

Grace  waited  for  Graham  to  give  his  own  confidence  to 
his  friend  if  he  chose  to  do  so,  for  she  feared  that  if  she 
spoke  of  it  estrangement  might  ensue.  The  unsuspecting 
major  was  enthusiastic  in  his  praises  of  the  successful  fisher 
man,  and  Hilland  indorsed  with  emphasis  all  he  said. 
Graham's  absence  and  Grace's  reception  had  banished  even 
the  thought  that  he  might  possibly  find  a  rival  in  his  friend, 
and  his  happiness  was  unalloyed. 

One  sultry  summer  evening  in  early  July  Graham  re 
turned  to  his  aunt's  residence,  and  was  informed  that  she 
was,  as  usual,  at  her  neighbor's.  He  went  immediately  to 
his  room  to  remove  the  dust  and  stains  of  travel.  On  his 
table  still  lay  the  marked  copy  of  Emerson  that  Grace  had 
lent  him,  and  he  smiled  bitterly  as  he  recalled  his  compla 
cent,  careless  surmises  over  the  underscored  passage,  now 
so  well  understood  and  explained.  Having  finished  his 
toilet,  he  gazed  steadily  at  his  reflection  in  the  mirror,  as 
a  soldier  might  have  done  to  see  if  his  equipment  was  com 
plete.  It  was  evident  he  had  not  gone  in  vain  to  nature 
for  help.  His  face  was  bronzed,  and  no  telltale  flush  or 
pallor  could  now  be  easily  recognized.  His  expression  was 
calm  and  resolute,  indicating  nerves  braced  and  firm.  Then 
he  turned  away  with  the  look  of  a  man  going  into  battle, 
and  without  a  moment's  hesitancy  he  sought  the  ordeal. 
The  windows  and  doors  of  Major  St.  John's  cottage  were 
open,  and  as  he  mounted  the  piazza  the  group  around  the 
whist-table  was  in  full  view — the  major  contracting  his 
bushy  eyebrows  over  his  hand  as  if  not  altogether  satisfied, 
Mrs.  Mayburn  looking  at  hers  with  an  interest  so  faint  as  to 
suggest  that  her  thoughts  were  wandering,  and  Hilland  with 
his  laughing  blue  eyes  glancing  often  from  his  cards  to  the 
fair  face  of  his  partner,  as  if  he  saw  there  a  story  that  would 


FLIGHT    TO   NATURE  99 

deepen  in  its  inthralling  interest  through  life,  There  was 
no  shadow,  no  doubt  on  his  wide,  white  brow.  Jt  was  the 
genial,  frank,  merry  face  of  the  boy  who  had  thawed  the 
reserve  and  banished  the  gathering  gloom  of  a  solitary 
youth  at  college,  only  now  it  was  marked  by  the  stronger 
lines  of  early  manhood.  His  fine,  short  upper  lip  was  clean 
shaven,  and  its  tremulous  curves  indicated  a  nature  quick, 
sensitive,  and  ready  to  respond  to  every  passing  influence, 
while  a  full,  tawny  beard  and  broad  shoulders  banished  all 
suggestion  of  effeminacy.  He  appeared  to  be,  what  in  truth 
he  was,  an  unspoiled  favorite  of  fortune,  now  supremely 
happy  in  her  best  and  latest  gift.  "If  I  could  but  have 
known  the  truth  at  first, "  sighed  Graham,  "I  would  not  have 
lingered  here  until  my  very  soul  was  enslaved;  for  he  is  the 
man  above  all  others  to  win  and  hold  a  woman's  heart." 

That  he  held  the  heart  of  the  fair  girl  opposite  him  was 
revealed  by  every  glance,  and  Graham's  heart  ached  with 
a  pain  hard  to  endure,  as  he  watched  for  a  moment  the 
exquisite  outlines  of  her  face,  her  wide,  low  brow  with  its 
halo  of  light-colored  hair  that  was  in  such  marked  contrast 
with  the  dark  and  lustrous  eyes,  now  veiled  by  silken  lashes 
as  she  looked  downward  intent  on  the  game,  now  beaming 
with  the  very  spirit  of  mirth  and  mischief  as  she  looked  at 
her  opponents,  and  again  softening  in  obedience  to  the  con 
trolling  law  of  her  life  as  she  glanced  half  shyly  from  time 
to  time  at  the  great  bearded  man  on  the  other  side  of 
the  table. 

41  Was  not  the  world  wide  enough  for  me  to  escape  seeing 
that  face  ?"  he  groaned.  "A  few  months  since  I  was  content 
with  my  life  and  lot.  Why  did  I  come  thousands  of  miles 
to  meet  such  a  fate?  I  feared  I  should  have  to  face  poverty 
and  privation  for  a  time.  Now  they  are  my  lot  for  life,  an 
impoverishment  that  wealth  would  only  enhance.  1  cannot 
stay  here,  I  will  not  remain  a  day  longer  than  is  essential 
to  make  the  impression  I  wish  to  leave;"  and  with  a  firm 
step  he  crossed  the  piazza,  rapped  lightly  in  announcement 
of  his  presence,  and  entered  without  ceremony. 


100  BIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

flilland  sprang  forward  joyously  to  meet  him,  and  gave 
him  just  such  a  greeting  as  accorded  with  his  ardent  spirit. 
"Why,  Graham!"  he  cried,  with  a  crushing  grasp,  and  rest 
ing  a  hand  on  his  shoulder  at  the  same  time,  "you  come  un 
expectedly,  like  all  the  best  things  in  the  world.  We  looked 
for  a  letter  that  would  give  us  a  chance  to  celebrate  your 
arrival  as  that  of  the  greatest  fisherman  of  the  age." 

"Having  taken  so  many  unwary  trout,  it  was  quite  in 
keeping  to  take  us  unawares, ' '  said  Grace,  pressing  forward 
with  outstretched  hand,  for  she  had  determined  to  show  in 
the  most  emphatic  way  that  Holland's  friend  was  also  hers. 

Graham  took  the  proffered  hand  and  held  it,  while,  with 
a  humorous  glance  at  his  friend,  he  said:  "See  here,  Hil- 
land,  I  hold  an  indisputable  proof  that  it's  time  you  ap 
peared  on  the  confines  of  civilization  and  gave  an  account 
of  yourself." 

"I  own  up,  old  fellow.  You  have  me  on  the  hip.  1 
have  kept  one  secret  from  you.  If  we  had  been  together 
the  thing  would  have  come  out,  but  somehow  I  couldn't 
write,  even  to  you,  until  I  knew  my  fate." 

"Mr.  Graham,"  broke  in  the  major,  "if  we  were  in  the 
service,  I  should  place  you  in  charge  of  the  commissary  de 
partment,  and  give  you  a  roving  commission.  I  have  lived 
like  a  lord  for  the  past  two  weeks;"  and  he  shook  Graham's 
hand  so  cordially  as  to  prove  his  heart  had  sympathized 
with  an  adjacent  organ  that  had  been  highly  gratified. 

"I  have  missed  you,  Alford,"  was  his  aunt's  quiet  greet 
ing,  and  she  kissed  him  as  if  he  were  her  son,  causing  a 
sudden  pang  as  he  remembered  how  soon  he  would  bid  her 
farewell  again. 

"Why,  Graham,  how  you  have  improved!  You  have 
gained  a  splendid  color  in  the  woods.  The  only  trouble  is 
that  you  are  as  attenuated  as  some  of  the  theories  we  used 
to  discuss." 

"And  you,  giddy  boy,  begin  to  look  quite  like  a  man. 
Miss  Grace,  you  will  never  know  how  greatly  you  are  in 
debted  to  me  for  my  restraining  influence.  There  never 


FLIGHT    TO   NATURE  101 

was  a  fellow  who  needed  to  be  sat  down  upon  so  often  as 
HilJand.  I  have  curbed  and  pruned  him;  indeed,  I  have 
almost  brought  him  up." 

"He  does  you  credit,"  was  her  reply,  spoken  with  mirth 
ful  impressiveness,  and  with  a  very  contented  glance  at  the 
laughing  subject  of  discussion. 

"Yes,  Graham,"  he  remarked,  "you  were  a  trifle  heavy 
at  times,  and  were  better  at  bringing  a  fellow  down  than 
up.  It  took  all  the  leverage  of  my  jolly  good  nature  to 
bring  you  up  occasionally.  But  I  am  glad  to  see  and  hear 
that  you  have  changed  so  happily.  Grace  and  the  major 
say  you  have  become  the  best  of  company,  taking  a  human 
interest  in  other  questions  than  those  which  keep  the  scien 
tists  by  the  ears." 

"That  is  because  I  have  broken  my  shell  and  come  out 
into  the  world.  One  soon  discovers  that  there  are  other 
questions,  and  some  of  them  conundrums  that  the  scientists 
may  as  well  give  up  at  the  start.  I  say,  Hilland,  how  young 
we  were  over  there  in  Germany  when  we  thought  ourselves 
growing  hourly  into  savants!" 

"Indeed  we  were,  and  as  sublimely  complacent  as  we 
were  young.  Would  you  believe  it,  Mrs.  Mayburn,  your 
nephew  and  I  at  one  time  thought  we  were  on  the  trail  of 
some  of  the  most  elusive  secrets  of  the  universe,  and  that 
we  should  soon  drag  them  from  cover.  I  have  learned 
since  that  this  little  girl  could  teach  me  more  than  all  the 
universities." 

Graham  shot  a  swift  glance  at  his  aunt,  which  Grace 
thought  she  detected;  but  he  turned  to  the  latter,  and  said 
genially:  "I  congratulate  you  on  excelling  all  the  German 
doctors.  I  know  he's  right,  and  he'll  remember  the  lore 
obtained  from  you  long  after  he  has  forgotten  the  deep, 
guttural  abstractions  that  droned  on  his  ears  abroad.  It 
will  do  him  more  good,  too." 

"I  fear  I  am  becoming  a  subject  of  irony  to  you  both," 
said  Grace. 

"They  are  both  becoming  too  deep  for  us,  are  they  not, 


102  BIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

Mrs.  May  burn  ?"  put  in  the  major.  "You  obtained  your 
best  knowledge,  Mr.  Graham,  when  you  trampled  the  woods 
as  a  boy,  and  though  you  gathered  so  much  of  it  by  hook 
it's  like  the  fish  you  killed,  rare  to  find.  If  we  were  in  the 
service  and  I  had  the  power,  I'd  have  you  brevetted  at  once, 
and  get  some  fellow  knocked  on  the  head  to  make  a  vacancy. 
You  have  been  contributing  royally  to  our  mess,  and  now 
you  must  take  a  soldier's  luck  with  us  to-night.  Grace, 
couldn't  you  improvise  a  nice  little  supper  ?" 

"Please  do  not  let  me  cause  any  such  trouble  this  hot 
evening,"  Graham  began;  "I  dined  late  in  town,  and — " 

"No  insubordination,"  interrupted  Grace,  rising  with 
alacrity.  "Certainly  I  can,  papa,"  and  as  she  paused  near 
Graham,  she  murmured:  "Don't  object;  it  will  please  papa." 

She  showed  what  a  provident  housekeeper  she  was,  for 
they  all  soon  sat  down  to  an  inviting  repast,  of  which  fruit 
was  the  staple  article,  with  cake  so  light  and  delicate  that 
it  would  never  disturb  a  man's  conscience  after  he  retired. 
Then  with  genial  words  and  smiles  that  masked  all  heart 
ache,  Graham  and  his  aunt  said  good-night  and  departed, 
Hilland  accompanying  his  friend,  that  he  might  pour  out 
the  long-delayed  confidence.  Graham  shivered  as  he  thought 
of  the  ordeal,  as  a  man  might  tremble  who  was  on  his  way 
to  the  torture-chamber,  but  outwardly  he  was  quietly  cordial. 


THE   FRIENDS  103 


CHAPTER   XIII 

THE   FRIENDS 

AFTER  accompanying  Mrs.  Mayburn  to  her  cottage 
door,  the  friends  strolled  away  together,  the  sultry 
evening  rendering  them  reluctant  to  enter  the 
house.  When  they  reached  the  rustic  seat  under  the  apple- 
tree,  Hilland  remarked:  "Here's  a  good  place  for  our — " 

"Not  here,"  interrupted  Graham,  in  a  tone  that  was  al 
most  sharp  in  its  tension. 

"Why  not?"  asked  his  friend,  in  the  accent  of  surprise. 

"Oh,  well,"  was  the  confused  answer,  "some  one  may 
be  passing — servants  may  be  out  in  the  grounds.  Suppose 
we  walk  slowly." 

"Graham,  you  seem  possessed  by  the  very  demon  of 
restlessness.  The  idea  of  walking  this  hot  night!" 

"Oh,  well,  it  doesn't  matter,"  Graham  replied,  carelessty, 
although  his  face  was  rigid  with  the  effort;  and  he  threw 
himself  down  on  the  rustic  seat.  "We  are  not  conspirators 
that  we  need  steal  away  in  the  darkness.  Why  should  I  not 
be  restless  after  sitting  in  the  hot  cars  all  day,  and  with  the 
habit  of  tramping  fresh  upon  me?" 

"What  evil  spirit  drove  you  into  the  wilderness  and 
made  you  the  champion  tramp  of  the  country  ?  It  seems  to 
me  you  must  have  some  remarkable  confidences  also." 

"No  evil  spirit,  I  assure  you;  far  from  it.  My  tramp 
has  done  me  good;  indeed,  I  never  derived  more  benefit 
from  an  outing  in  the  woods  in  my  life.  You  will  remem 
ber  that  when  we  were  boys  at  college  no  fellow  took  longer 


104  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

walks  than  I.  I  am  simply  returning  to  the  impulses  of  my 
youth.  The  fact  is,  I've  been  living  too  idly,  and  of  course 
there  would  be  a  reaction  in  one  of  my  temperament  and 
habits.  The  vital  force  which  had  been  accumulating  under 
my  aunt's  high  feeding  and  the  inspiration  resulting  from 
the  society  of  two  such  charming  people  as  Major  and  Miss 
St.  John  had  to  be  expended  in  some  way.  Somehow  I've 
lost  much  of  my  old  faith  in  books  and  laboratories.  I've 
been  thinking  a  great  deal  about  it,  and  seeing  you  again  has 
given  a  strong  impulse  to  a  forming  purpose.  I  felt  a  sin 
cere  commiseration  when  you  gave  up  your  life  of  a  student. 
I  was  a  fool  to  do  so.  I  have  studied  your  face  and  manner 
this  evening,  and  can  see  that  you  have  developed  more 
manhood  out  in  those  Western  mines,  in  your  contact  with 
men  and  things  and  the  large  material  interests  of  the  world, 
than  you  could  have  acquired  by  delving  a  thousand  years 
among  dusty  tomes." 

"That  little  girl  over  there  has  done  more  for  me  than 
Western  mines  and  material  interests." 

"That  goes  without  saving;  and  yet  she  could  have  done 
little  for  you,  had  you  been  a  dawdler.  Indeed,  in  that  case 
she  would  have  had  nothing  to  do  with  you.  She  recognized 
that  you  were  like  the  gold  you  are  mining — worth  taking 
and  fashioning;  and  I  tell  you  she  is  not  a  girl  to  be  im 
posed  upon. ' ' 

"Flatterer!" 

"No;  friend." 

"You  admire  Grace  very  much." 

"I  do  indeed,  and  I  respect  her  still  more.  You  know 
I  never  was  a  lady's  man;  indeed,  the  society  of  most  young 
women  was  a  weariness  to  me.  Don't  imagine  I  am  assert 
ing  any  superiority.  You  enjoyed  their  conversation,  and 
you  are  as  clever  as  I  am. ' ' 

"I  understand,"  said  Hilland,  laughing;  "you  had  noth 
ing  in  common.  You  talked  to  a  girl  as  if  she  were  a  mile 
off,  and  often  broached  topics  that  were  cycles  away.  Now, 
a  girl  likes  a  fellow  to  come  reasonably  close — metaphoric- 


THE    FRIENDS  105 

ally,  if  not  actually — when  he  chats  with  her.  Moreover, 
many  that  you  met,  if  they  had  brains,  had  never  cultivated 
them.  They  were  as  shallow  as  a  duck-pond,  and  with  their 
small  deceits,  subterfuges,  and  affectations  were  about  as 
transparent.  Some  might  imagine  them  deep.  They  puz 
zled  and  nonplussed  you,  and  you  slunk  away.  Now  I, 
while  rating  them  at  their  worth,  was  able  from  previous 
associations  to  talk  a  little  congenial  nonsense,  and  pass  on. 
They  amused  me,  too.  You  know  I  have  a  sort  of  laughing 
philosophy,  and  everything  and  everybody  amuses  me.  The 
fellows  would  call  these  creatures  angels,  and  they  would 
flap  their  little  butterfly  wings  as  if  they  thought  they  were, 
flow  happened  it  that  you  so  soon  were  en  rapport  with 
Grace  ?' ' 

"Ah,  wily  wretch!"  Graham  laughed  gayly,  while  the 
night  hid  his  lowering  brows;  "praise  of  your  mistress  is 
sweeter  than  flattery  to  yourself.  Why,  simply  because  she 
is  Grace  St.  John.  I  imagine  that  it  is  her  army  life  that 
has  so  blended  unconventionality  with  perfect  good  breed 
ing.  She  is  her  bluff,  honest,  high-spirited  old  father  over 
again,  only  idealized,  refined,  and  womanly.  Then  she 
must  have  inherited  some  rare  qualities  from  her  Southern 
mother:  you  see  my  aunt  has  told  me  all  about  them.  I 
once  met  a  Southern  lady  abroad,  and  although  she  was 
middle-aged,  she  fascinated  me  more  than  any  girl  I  had 
ever  met.  In  the  first  place,  there  was  an  indescribable 
accent  that  I  never  heard  in  Europe — slight,  indeed,  but 
very  pleasing  to  the  ear.  I  sometimes  detect  traces  of  it  in 
Miss  St.  John's  speech.  Then  this  lady  had  a  frankness 
and  sincerity  of  manner  which  put  you  at  your  ease  at 
once;  and  yet  with  it  all  there  was  a  fine  reserve.  You  no 
more  feared  that  she  would  blurt  out  something  unsanctioned 
by  good  taste  than  that  she  would  dance  a  hornpipe.  She 
was  singularly  gentle  and  retiring  in  her  manner;  and  yet 
one  instinctively  felt  he  would  rather  insult  a  Southern  fire- 
eater  than  offend  her.  She  gave  the  impression  that  she 
had  been  accustomed  to  a  chivalric  deference  from  men, 


106  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

rather  than  mere  society  attentions;  and  one  unconsciously 
infused  a  subtle  homage  in  his  very  accent  when  speaking 
to  her.  Now,  I  imagine  that  Miss  St.  John's  mother  must 
have  been  closely  akin  to  this  woman  in  character.  You 
know  my  weakness  for  analyzing  everything.  You  used  to 
say  I  couldn't  smoke  a  cigar  without  going  into  the  philoso 
phy  of  it.  I  had  not  spent  one  evening  in  the  society  of 
Miss  St.  John  before  I  saw  that  she  was  a  rara  avis.  Then 
her  devotion  to  her  invalid  father  is  superb.  She  enlisted 
me  in  his  service  the  first  day  of  my  arrival.  Although 
old,  crippled,  often  racked  with  pain,  and  afflicted  with  a 
temper  which  arbitrary  command  has  not  improved,  she 
beguiles  him  out  of  himself,  smiles  away  his  gloom — in 
brief,  creates  so  genial  an  atmosphere  about  him  that  every 
breath  is  balm,  and  does  it  all,  too,  without  apparent  effort. 
You  see  no  machinery  at  work.  Now,  this  was  all  a  new 
and  very  interesting  study  of  life  to  me,  and  I  studied  it. 
There,  too,  is  my  aunt,  who  is  quite  as  interesting  in  her 
way.  -  Such  women  make  general  or  wholesale  cynicism 
impossible,  or  else  hypocritical;"  and  he  was  about  to 
launch  out  into  as  extended  an  analysis  of  the  old  lady's 
peculiarities,  when  Hilland  interrupted  him  with  a  slap  on 
the  shoulder  and  a  ringing  laugh. 

"Graham,  you  haven't  changed  a  mite.  You  discourse 
just  as  of  old,  when  in  our  den  at  the  university  we  be 
fogged  ourselves  in  the  tobacco-smoke  and  the  denser  ob 
scurities  of  German  metaphysics,  only  your  theme  is  infi 
nitely  more  interesting.  Now,  when  I  met  my  paragon, 
Grace,  whom  you  have  limned  with  the  feeling  of  an  artist 
rather  than  of  an  analyst,  although  with  a  blending  of  both, 
I  fell  in  love  with  her." 

"Yes,  Hilland,  it's  just  like  you  to  fall  in  love.  My  fear 
has  ever  been  that  you  would  fall  in  love  with  a  face  some 
day,  and  not  with  a  woman.  But  I  now  congratulate  you 
from  the  depths  of  my  soul. ' ' 

"How  comes  it  that  you  did  not  fall  in  love  with  one 
whom  you  admire  so  much?  You  were  not  aware  of  my  suit. ' ' 


THE   FRIENDS  107 

"I  suppose  it  is  not  according  to  my  nature  to  'fall  in 
love, '  as  you  term  it.  The  very  phrase  is  repugnant  to  me. 
When  a  man  is  falling  in  any  sense  of  the  word,  his  reason 
is  rather  apt  to  be  muddled  and  confused,  and  he  cannot  be 
very  sure  where  he  will  land.  If  you  had  not  appeared  on 
the  scene  my  reason  would  have  approved  of  my  marriage 
with  Miss  St.  John — that  is,  if  I  had  seen  the  slightest 
chance  of  acceptance,  which,  of  course,  I  never  have.  I 
should  be  an  egregious  fool  were  it  otherwise." 

"How  about  your  heart?" 

"The  heart  often  leads  to  the  sheerest  folly,"  was  the 
sharp  rejoinder. 

flilland  laughed  in  his  good-humored  way.  His  friend's 
reply  seemed  the  result  of  irritation  at  the  thought  that  the 
heart  should  have  much  to  say  when  reason  demurred. 
"Well,  Graham,"  he  said,  kindly  and  earnestly,  "if  I  did 
not  know  you  so  well,  I  should  say  you  were  the  most  cold 
blooded,  frog- like  fellow  in  existence.  You  certainly  are  an 
enigma  to  me  on  the  woman  question.  I  must  admit  that 
my  heart  went  headlong  from  the  first;  but  when  at  last  rea 
son  caught  up,  and  had  time  to  get  her  breath  and  look  the 
case  over,  she  said  it  was  'all  right' — far  better  than  she  had 
expected.  To  one  of  my  temperament,  however,  it  seems 
very  droll  that  reason  should  lead  the  way  to  love,  and  the 
heart  come  limping  after." 

"Many  a  one  has  taken  the  amatory  tumble  who  would 
be  glad  to  reason  his  way  up  and  back.  But  we  need  not 
discuss  this  matter  in  the  abstract,  for  we  have  too  much 
that  is  personal  to  say  to  each  other.  You  are  safe;  your 
wonted  good  fortune  has  served  you  better  than  ever.  All 
the  wisdom  of  Solomon  could  not  have  enabled  you  to  fall 
in  love  more  judiciously.  Indeed,  when  I  come  to  think  of 
it,  the  wisdom  of  Solomon,  according  to  history,  was  rather 
at  fault  in  these  matters.  Tell  me  how  it  all  came  about" 
(for  he  knew  the  story  must  come);  "only  outline  the  tale 
to-night.  I've  been  speculating  and  analyzing  so  long 
that  it  is  late;  and  the  major,  hearing  voices  in  the 


108  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

grounds,  may  bring  some  of  his  old  army  ordnance  to 
bear  on  us." 

But  Hilland,  out  of  the  abundance  of  his  heart,  found 
much  to  say;  and  his  friend  sat  cold,  shivering  in  the  sultry 
night,  his  heart  growing  more  despairing  as  he  saw  the 
heaven  of  successful  wooing  that  he  could  never  enter. 
At  last  Hilland  closed  with  the  words,  "I  say,  Graham, 
are  you  asleep?" 

"Oh,  no,"  in  a  husky  voice. 

"You  are  taking  cold." 

"I  believe  I  am." 

"I'm  a  brute  to  keep  you  up  in  this  style.  As  I  live,  I 
believe  there  is  the  tinge  of  dawn  in  the  east." 

"May  every  dawn  bring  a  happy  day  to  you,  Warren," 
was  said  so  gently  and  earnestly  that  Hilland  rested  his  arm 
on  his  friend's  shoulder  as  he  replied,  "You've  a  queer 
heart,  Alford,  but  such  as  it  is  I  would  not  exchange  it  for 
that  of  any  man  living."  Then  abruptly,  "Do  you  hold  to 
our  old  views  that  this  life  ends  all  ?" 

A  thrill  of  something  like  exultation  shot  through  Gra 
ham's  frame  as  he  replied,  "Certainly." 

Hilland  sprang  up  and  paced  the  walk  a  moment,  then 
said,  "Well,  I  don't  know.  A  woman  like  Grace  St.  John 
shakes  my  faith  in  our  old  belief.  It  seems  profanation  to 
assert  that  she  is  mere  clay. ' ' 

The  lurid  gleam  of  light  which  the  thought  of  ceasing  to 
exist  and  to  suffer  had  brought  to  Graham  faded.  It  did 
seem  like  profanation.  At  any  rate,  at  that  moment  it  was 
a  hideous  truth  that  such  a  creature  might  by  the  chance  of 
any  accident  resolve  into  mere  dust.  And  yet  it  seemed  a 
truth  which  must  apply  to  her  as  well  as  to  the  grossest  of 
her  sisterhood.  He  could  only  falter,  "She  is  very  highly 
organized." 

They  both  felt  that  it  was  a  lame  and  impotent  conclu 
sion. 

But  the  spring  of  happiness  was  in  Hilland's  heart.  The 
present  was  too  rich  for  him  to  permit  such  dreary  specula- 


THE   FRIENDS  109 

tions,  and  he  remarked  cordially  and  laughingly,  "Well, 
Graham,  we  have  made  amends  for  our  long  separation  and 
silence.  We  have  talked  all  the  summer  night.  I  am  rich, 
indeed,  in  such  a  friend  and  such  a  sweetheart;  and  the  latter 
must  truly  approach  perfection  when  my  dear  old  philoso 
pher  of  the  stoic  school  could  think  it  safe  and  wise  to  marry 
her,  were  all  the  conditions  favorable.  You  don't  wish 
that  I  was  at  the  bottom  of  one  of  my  mines,  do  you, 
Alford?" 

Graham  felt  that  the  interview  must  end  at  once,  so  he 
rose  and  said,  "No,  I  do  not.  My  reason  approves  of  your 
choice.  If  you  wish  more,  my  'queer  heart,  such  as  it  is,' 
approves  of  it  also.  If  I  had  the  power  to  change  every 
thing  this  moment  I  would  not  do  so.  You  have  fairly  won 
your  love,  and  may  all  the  forces  of  nature  conspire  to  pros 
per  you  both.  But  come,"  he  added  in  a  lighter  vein,  "Miss 
St.  John  may  be  watching  and  waiting  for  your  return,  and 
even  imagining  that  I,  with  my  purely  intellectual  bent,  may 
regard  you  as  a  disturbing  element  in  the  problem,  and  so  be 
led  to  eliminate  you  in  a  quiet,  scientific  manner." 

"Well,  then,  good  night,  or  morning,  rather.  Forgive  a 
lover's  garrulousness. " 

"I  was  more  garrulous  than  you,  without  half  your  ex 
cuse.  No,  I'll  see  you  safely  home.  I  wish  to  walk  a  little 
to  get  up  a  circulation.  With  your  divine  flame  burning  so 
brightly,  I  suppose  you  could  sit  through  a  zero  night;  but 
you  must  remember  that  such  a  modicum  of  philosophy  as  I 
possess  will  not  keep  me  warm.  There,  good- by,  old  fel 
low.  Sleep  the  sleep  of  the  just,  and,  what  is  better  in  this 
chance-medley  world,  of  the  happy.  Don't  be  imagining 
that  you  have  any  occasion  to  worry  about  me." 

Hilland  went  to  his  room  in  a  complacent  mood,  and 
more  in  love  than  ever.  Had  not  his  keen-eyed,  analytical 
friend,  after  weeks  of  careful  observation,  testified  to  the 
exceeding  worth  of  the  girl  of  his  heart  ?  He  had  been  in 
love,  and  he  had  ever  heard  that  love  is  blind.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  his  friend  could  never  love  as  he  understood  the 


110  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

word;  and  yet  the  peerless  maiden  had  so  satisfied  the  exac 
tions  of  Graham's  taste  and  reason,  and  had  proved  herself 
so  generally  admirable,  that  he  felt  it  would  be  wise  and  ad 
vantageous  to  marry  her. 

"It's  a  queer  way  of  looking  at  these  things,"  he  con 
cluded,  with  a  shrug,  "but  then  it  is  Graham's  way." 

Soon  he  was  smiling  in  his  repose,  for  the  great  joy  of 
his  waking  hours  threw  its  light  far  down  into  the  obscurity 
of  sleep. 

Graham  turned  slowly  away,  and  walked  with  downcast 
face  to  the  rustic  seat.  He  stood  by  it  a  moment,  and  then 
sank  into  it  like  a  man  who  has  reached  the  final  limit  of 
human  endurance.  He  uttered  no  sound,  but  at  brief  in 
tervals  a  shiver  ran  through  his  frame.  His  head  sank  into 
his  hands,  and  he  looked  and  felt  like  one  utterly  crushed 
by  a  fate  from  which  there  was  no  escape.  His  ever-recur 
ring  thought  was,  "I  have  but  one  life,  and  it's  lost,  worse 
than  lost.  Why  should  I  stagger  on  beneath  the  burden  of 
an  intolerable  existence,  which  will  only  grow  heavier  as  the 
forces  of  life  fail  ?" 

At  last  in  his  agony  he  uttered  the  words  aloud.  A 
hand  was  laid  upon  his  shoulder,  and  a  husky,  broken 
voice  said,  "Here  is  one  reason." 

He  started  up,  and  saw  that  his  aunt  stood  beside 
him. 

The  dawn  was  gray,  but  the  face  of  the  aged  woman 
was  grayer  and  more  pallid.  She  did  not  entreat — her  feel 
ing  seemed  too  deep  for  words — but  with  clasped  hands  she 
lifted  her  tear-dimmed  eyes  to  his.  Her  withered  bosom  rose 
and  fell  in  short,  convulsive  sobs,  and  it  was  evident  that  she 
could  scarcely  stand. 

His  eyes  sank,  and  a  sudden  sense  of  guilt  and  shame  at 
his  forgetfulness  of  her  overcame  him.  Then  yielding  to  an 
impulse,  all  the  stronger  because  mastering  one  who  had 
few  impulses,  he  took  her  in  his  arms,  kissed  her  repeat 
edly,  and  supported  her  tenderly  to  the  cottage.  When  at 
last  they  reached  the  quaint  little  parlor  he  placed  her  ten- 


THE   FRIENDS  111 

derly  in  her  chair,  and,  taking  her  hand,  he  kissed  it,  and 
said  solemnly,  "No,  aunty,  I  will  not  die.  I  will  live  out 
my  days  for  your  sake,  and  do  my  best." 

"Thank  God!"  she  murmured— "thank  God!"  and  for 
a  moment  she  leaned  her  head  upon  his  breast  as  he  knelt 
beside  her.  Suddenly  she  lifted  herself,  with  a  return  of 
her  old  energy;  and  he  rose  and  stood  beside  her.  She 
looked  at  him  intently  as  if  she  would  read  his  thoughts, 
and  then  shook  her  finger  impressively  as  she  said,  "Mark 
my  words,  Alf ord,  mark  my  words :  good  will  come  of  that 
promise. ' ' 

"It  has  come  already,"  he  gently  replied,  "in  that  you, 
my  best  friend,  are  comforted.  Now  go  and  rest  and  sleep. 
Have  no  fear,  for  your  touch  of  love  has  broken  all  evil 
spells." 

Graham  went  to  his  room,  calmed  by  an  inflexible  reso 
lution.  It  was  no  longer  a  question  of  happiness  or  unhap- 
piness,  or  even  of  despair;  it  was  simply  a  question  of  honor, 
of  keeping  his  word.  He  sat  down  and  read  once  more  the 
paragraph  in  the  marked  copy  of  Emerson,  "No  man  ever 
forgot—"  He  gave  the  words  a  long,  wistful  look,  and 
then  closed  the  volume  as  if  he  were  closing  a  chapter 
of  bis  life. 

"Well,"  he  sighed,  "I  did  my  best  last  night  not  to 
dispel  their  enchantment,  for  of  course  Hilland  will  tell 
her  the  substance  of  our  talk.  Now,  it  must  be  my  task 
for  a  brief  time  to  maintain  and  deepen  the  impression  that 
I  have  made." 

Having  no  desire  for  sleep,  he  softly  paced  his  room,  but 
it  was  not  in  nervous  excitement.  His  pulse  was  quiet  and 
regular,  and  his  mind  reverted  easily  to  a  plan  of  extended 
travel  upon  which  he  had  been  dwelling  while  in  the  woods. 
At  last  he  threw  himself  upon  his  couch,  and  slept  for  an 
hour  or  two.  On  awaking  he  found  that  it  was  past  the 
usual  breakfast  hour,  and  after  a  hasty  toilet  he  went  in 
search  of  his  aunt,  but  was  informed  that  she  was  still 
sleeping. 


112  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

"Do  not  disturb  her, "  he  said  to  the  servant.  " Let  her 
sleep  as  long  as  she  will." 

He  then  wrote  a  note,  saying  that  he  had  decided  to  go 
to  town  to  attend  to  some  business  which  had  been  neglected 
in  his  absence,  and  was  soon  on  his  way  to  the  train. 


XOBLE  DECEPTION  113 


CHAPTER  XIV 


IN  the  course  of  the  forenoon  Hilland called  on  his  friend, 
and  was  informed  that  Graham  had  gone  to  the  city  on 
business,  but  would  return  in  the  evening.  He  also 
learned  that  Mrs.  May  burn  was  indisposed,  and  had  not 
yet  risen.  At  these  tidings  Grace  ran  over  to  see  her  old 
friend,  hoping  to  do  something  for  her  comfort,  and  the 
young  girl  was  almost  shocked  when  she  saw  Mrs.  May- 
burn's  pinched  and  pallid  face  upon  her  pillow.  She 
seemed  to  have  aged  in  a  night. 

"You  are  seriously  ill  I"  she  exclaimed,  "and  you  did 
not  let  me  know.  Mr.  Graham  should  not  have  left  you." 

"He  did  not  know,"  said  the  old  lady,  sharply,  for  the 
slightest  imputation  against  Graham  touched  her  keenly. 
"He  is  kindness  itself  to  me.  He  only  heard  this  morning 
that  I  was  sleeping,  and  he  left  word  that  I  should  not  be 
disturbed.  He  also  wrote  a  note  explaining  the  business 
which  had  been  neglected  in  his  absence.  Oh,  1  assure 
you,  no  one  could  be  more  considerate." 

"Dear,  loyal  Mrs.  May  burn,  you  won't  hear  a  word 
against  those  you  love.  I  think  Mr.  Graham  wonderfully 
considerate  for  a  man.  You  know  we  should  not  expect 
much  of  men.  I  have  to  manage  two,  and  it  keeps  me 
busy,  but  never  so  busy  that  I  cannot  do  all  in  my  power 
for  my  dear  old  friend.  I'll  get  your  breakfast  myself,  and 
bring  it  to  you  with  my  own  hands,  and  force  it  upon  you 
with  the  inexorable  firmness  of  Sairy  Gamp;"  and  she  van 
ished  to  the  kitchen. 


114  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

The  old  lady  turned  her  face  to  the  wall  and  moaned, 
"Oh,  if  it  could  only  have  been !  Why  is  it  that  we  so  often 
set  our  hearts  on  that  which  is  denied  ?  After  a  long,  dull 
sleep  of  years  it  seemed  as  if  my  heart  had  wakened  in  my 
old  age  only  to  find  how  poor  and  lonely  I  am.  Alford  can 
not  stay  with  me — I  could  not  expect  it — neither  can  Grace; 
and  so  1  must  go  on  alone  to  the  end.  I'm  punished,  pun 
ished  that  years  ago  I  did  not  make  some  one  love  me;  but 
I  was  self-sufficient  then." 

Her  regret  was  deepened  when  Grace  returned  with  a 
dainty  breakfast,  and  waited  on  her  with  a  daughter's  gen 
tleness  and  tenderness,  making  her  smile  in  spite  of  herself 
at  her  funny  speeches,  and  beguiling  her  into  enjoyment  of 
the  present  moment  with  a  witchery  that  none  could  resist. 

Presently  Mrs.  Mayburn  sighed,  "It's  a  fearfully  hot  day 
for  Alford  to  be  in  town." 

"For  a  student,"  cried  Grace,  "he  is  the  most  indefatiga 
ble  man  I  ever  heard  of.  Warren  told  me  that  they  sat  out 
there  under  the  apple-tree  and  poured  out  their  hearts  till 
dawn.  Talk  about  schoolgirls  babbling  all  night.  My 
comment  on  Warren's  folly  was  a  dose  of  quinine.  It's 
astonishing  how  these  savants,  these  intellectual  giants, 
need  taking  care  of  like  babies.  Woman's  mission  will 
never  cease  as  long  as  there  are  learned  men  in  the  world. 
They  will  sit  in  a  draught  and  discuss  some  obscure  law 
concerning  the  moons  of  Jupiter;  but  when  the  law  result 
ing  in  influenza  manifests  itself,  then  they  learn  our  worth." 

"Oh,  dear!"  groaned  Mrs.  Mayburn,  "I  didn't  give  Al 
ford  any  quinine.  You  were  more  provident  than  I." 

"How  could  you,  when  you  were  asleep?" 

4 '  Ah,  true ! ' '  was  the  conf  u  sed  reply.  "  B ut  then  I  should 
have  been  awake.  I  should  have  remembered  that  he  did 
not  come  in  when  I  did  last  night." 

The  faint  color  that  stole  into  the  face  that  had  been  so 
pale  gave  some  surprise  to  the  young  girl.  When  once  her 
mind  was  directed  to  a  subject  her  intuitions  were  exceed 
ingly  keen. 


NOBLE    DECEPTION  115 

From  the  time  the  secret  of  his  regard  for  her  had  been 
surprised  from  him,  Graham  had  been  a  puzzle  to  her.  Was 
he  the  cool,  philosophical  lover  that  he  would  have  her 
think?  Hilland  was  so  frank  in  nature  and  so  wholly 
under  her  influence  that  it  was  next  to  impossible  for  him 
not  to  share  with  her  his  every  thought.  She  had,  there 
fore,  learned  substantially  the  particulars  of  last  night's 
interview,  and  she  could  not  fully  accept  his  belief  that 
Graham's  intellect  alone  had  been  captivated.  She  remem 
bered  how  he  had  leaned  against  the  tree  for  support;  how 
pale  he  had  been  during  the  evening  that  followed;  and 
how  his  hand  had  trembled  in  parting.  She  remembered 
his  sudden  flight  to  the  mountains,  his  tireless  energy  there, 
as  if  driven  on  by  an  aching  wound  that  permitted  no  rest. 
True,  he  had  borne  himself  strongly  and  well  in  her  pres 
ence  the  evening  before;  and  he  had  given  the  friend  who 
knew  him  so  well  the  impression  that  it  was  merely  an  in 
stance  of  the  quiet  weighing  of  the  pros  and  cons,  in  which, 
after  much  deliberation,  the  pros  had  won.  There  had  been 
much  in  his  course,  too,  to  give  color  to  this  view  of  the 
case;  but  her  woman's  instinct  suggested  that  there  was 
something  more — something  she  did  not  know  about;  and 
she  would  have  been  less  or  more  than  woman  had  she  not 
wished  to  learn  the  whole  truth  in  a  matter  of  this  nature. 
She  hoped  that  her  lover  was  right,  and  that  Graham's 
heart,  in  accordance  with  his  development  theory,  was  so 
inchoate  as  to  be  incapable  of  much  suffering.  She  was  not 
sure,  however.  There  was  something  she  surmised  rather 
than  detected.  She  felt  it  now  in  Mrs.  May  burn's  presence, 
and  caught  a  glimpse  of  it  in  the  flush  that  was  fading  from 
her  cheeks.  Had  the  nephew  given  his  aunt  his  confidence  ? 
or  had  she  with  her  ripe  experience  and  keen  insight  discov 
ered  the  ultimate  truth  ? 

It  was  evident  that  while  Mrs.  Mayburn  still  loved  her 
dearly,  and  probably  was  much  disappointed  that  things 
had  turned  out  as  they  had,  she  had  given  her  loyalty  to 
Graham,  and  would  voluntarily  neither  do  nor  say  anything 


116  BIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

that  would  compromise  him.  The  slight  flush  suggested  to 
Grace  that  the  aunt  had  awaited  the  nephew's  return  in  the 
early  dawn,  and  that  they  had  spoken  freely  together  before 
separating;  but  she  was  the  last  one  in  the  world  to  attempt 
to  surprise  a  secret  from  another. 

Still  she  wished  to  know  the  truth,  for  she  felt  a  little 
guilty  over  her  reticence  in  regard  to  her  relations  with  Hil- 
land.  She,  perhaps,  had  made  too  much  of  the  luxury  of 
keeping  her  secret  until  it  could  shine  forth  as  the  sun 
of  her  life ;  and  Graham  had  been  left  in  an  ignorance  that 
had  not  been  fair  to  him.  With  a  growing  perception  of 
his  character,  now  that  she  had  given  thought  to  the  sub 
ject,  she  saw  that  if  he  had  learned  to  love  her  at  all,  it 
must  have  been  in  accordance  with  his  nature,  quietly,  de 
liberately,  even  analytically.  He  was  the  last  man  to  fall 
tumultuously  in  love.  But  when  he  had  given  it  in  his 
own  way,  could  she  be  sure  it  was  a  cool,  easily  managed 
preference  that  he  might  at  his  leisure  transfer  to  another 
who  satisfied  his  reason  and  taste  even  more  fully  than  her 
self  ?  If  this  were  true,  her  mind  would  be  at  rest;  and  she 
could  like  Hilland's  friend  heartily,  as  one  of  the  most 
agreeable  human  oddities  it  had  been  her  fortune  to  meet. 
She  had  serious  misgivings,  however,  which  Mrs.  May- 
burn's  sudden  indisposition,  and  the  marks  of  suffering 
upon  her  face,  did  not  tend  to  banish. 

W  hatever  the  truth  might  be,  she  felt  that  he  had  shown 
much  thoughtful  ness  for  her  in  his  frankness  with  Hilland. 
He  had  rendered  it  unnecessary  for  her  to  conceal  her  knowl 
edge  of  his  regard.  She  need  have  no  secrets,  so  far  as  he 
was  concerned.  The  only  question  was  as  to  the  nature  of 
this  regard.  If  the  impression  he  sought  to  give  her  lover 
was  correct,  neither  of  them  had  cause  for  much  solicitude. 
If  to  save  them  pain  he  was  seeking  to  hide  a  deeper  wound, 
it  was  a  noble  deception,  and  dictated  by  a  noble,  unselfish 
nature.  If  the  latter  supposition  should  prove  true,  she  felt 
that  she  would  discover  it  without  any  direct  eSort.  But  she 
also  felt  that  her  lover  should  be  left,  if  possible,  under  the 


NOBLE   DECEPTION  117 

impression  his  friend  had  sought  to  make,  and  that  Graham 
should  have  the  solace  of  thinking  he  had  concealed  his 
feelings  from  them  both. 

As  the  long  evening  shadows  stretched  eastward  across 
the  sloping  lawn  in  front  of  the  St.  John  cottage,  the  family 
gathered  on  the  piazza  to  enjoy  the  welcome  respite  from 
the  scorching  heat  of  the  day. 

The  old  major  looked  weary  and  overcome.  A  July  sun 
was  the  only  fire  before  which  he  had  ever  flinched.  Hil- 
land  still  appeared  a  little  heavy  from  his  long  hot  afternoon 
nap,  his  amends  for  the  vigils  of  the  previous  night.  Grace 
was  enchanting  in  her  light  clinging  draperies,  which  made 
her  lovely  form  tenfold  more  beautiful,  because  clothed  in 
perfect  taste.  The  heat  had  deepened  the  flush  upon  her 
cheeks,  and  brought  a  soft  languor  into  her  eyes,  and  as 
she  stood  under  an  arch  of  the  American  woodbine,  that 
mantled  the  supports  of  the  piazza  roof,  she  might  easily 
have  fulfilled  an  artist's  dream  of  summer.  Holland's  eyes 
kindled  as  he  looked  upon  her,  as  she  stood  with  averted 
face,  conscious  meanwhile  of  his  admiration,  and  exult 
ing  in  it.  What  sweeter  incense  is  ever  offered  to  a 
woman  ? 

"Grace,"  he  whispered,  "you  would  create  a  pulse  in  a 
marble  statue  to-night.  You  never  looked  more  lovely." 

"There  is  a  glamour  on  your  eyes,  Warren,"  she  replied; 
and  yet  the  quick  flash  of  joy  that  came  into  her  face 
proved  the  power  of  his  words,  which  still  had  all  the 
exquisite  charm  of  novelty. 

"It's  the  glamour  that  will  last  while  I  do,"  he  re 
sponded,  earnestly.  "Are  not  this  scene  and  hour  perfect? 
and  you  are  the  gem  of  it  all.  I  don't  see  how  a  man  could 
ask  or  wish  for  more  than  I  have  to-night,  except  that  it 
might  last  forever."  A  shadow  passed  over  his  face,  and 
he  added,  presently,  "To  think  that  after  a  few  weeks  I 
must  return  to  those  blasted  mines!  One  thing  is  settled, 
however.  I  shall  close  out  my  interests  there  as  speedily 
as  possible;  and  were  it  not  for  my  obligations  to  others, 


118  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

I'd  never  go  near  them  again.  I  have  money  enough  twice 
over,  and  am  a  fool  to  miss  one  hour  with  you. " 

"Y"ou  will  be  all  the  happier,  Warren,  if  you  close  up 
your  interests  in  the  West  in  a  manly,  business-like  way. 
I  always  wish  to  be  as  proud  of  you  as  I  am  now.  What's 
more,  I  don't  believe  in  idle  men,  no  matter  how  rich  they 
are.  I  should  be  worried  at  once  if  you  had  nothing  to  do 
but  sit  around  and  make  fine  speeches.  You'd  soon  weary 
of  the  sugar-plum  business,  and  so  should  I.  I  have  read 
somewhere  that  the  true  way  to  keep  a  man  a  lover  is  to 
give  him  plenty  of  work." 

"Will  you  choose  my  work  for  me?" 

"No;  anything  you  like,  so  it  is  not  speculation." 

"I  think  I'll  come  and  be  your  father's  gardener." 

"If  you  do,"  she  replied,  with  a  decisive  little  nod, 
"you  will  have  to  rake  and  hoe  so  many  hours  a  day  before 
you  can  have  any  dinner." 

"But  you,  fair  Eve,  would  bring  your  fancy-work,  and 
sit  with  me  in  the  shade. ' ' 

"The  idea  of  a  gardener  sitting  in  the  shade,  with  weeds 
growing  on  every  side. ' ' 

"But  you  would,  my  Eve." 

"Possibly,  after  1  had  seen  that  you  had  earned  your 
bread  by  the  'perspiration  of  your  brow,'  as  a  very  nice 
maiden  lady,  a  neighbor  of  ours,  always  phrases  it." 

"That  shall  be  my  calling  as  soon  as  I  can  get  East 
again.  Major,  I  apply  for  the  situation  of  gardener  as  soon 
as  I  can  sell  out  my  interests  in  the  mines." 

"I  have  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  was  the  reply.  "Grace 
commands  this  post,  and  while  here  you  are  under  her 
orders." 

"And  you'll  find  out,  too,  what  a  martinet  I  am,"  she 
added.  "There's  no  telling  how  often  I'll  put  you  under 
arrest  and  mount  guard  over  you  myself.  So !' ' 

"What  numberless  breaches  of  discipline  there  will 
be!" 

Lovers'  converse  consists  largely  in  tone  and  glance,  and 


NOBLE   DECEPTION  119 

these  cannot  be  written;  and  were  this  possible,  it  could 
have  but  the  slenderest  interest  to  the  reader. 

After  a  transient  pause  Hilland  remarked:  "Think  of 
poor  Graham  in  the  fiery  furnace  of  New  York  to-day.  I 
can  imagine  what  a  wilted  and  dilapidated- looking  specimen 
he  will  be  if  he  escapes  alive —  By  Jove,  there  he  is!"  and 
the  subject  of  his  speech  came  as  briskly  up  the  walk  as 
if  the  thermometer  had  been  in  the  seventies  instead  of  the 
nineties.  His  dress  was  quiet  and  elegant,  and  his  form  erect 
and  step  elastic. 

As  he  approached  the  piazza  and  doffed  his  hat,  Hilland 
cried:  "Graham,  you  are  the  coolest  fellow  I  ever  saw.  I 
was  just  commiserating  you,  and  expecting  you  to  look 
like  a  cabbage — no,  rose — leaf  that  had  been  out  in  the 
sun;  and  you  appear  just  as  if  you  had  stepped  from  a 
refrigerator. ' ' 

"All  a  matter  of  temperament  and  will,  my  dear  fellow. 
I  decided  I  would  not  be  hot  to-day;  and  I've  been  very 
comfortable. ' '  „ 

"Why  did  you  not  decide  not  to  be  cold  last  night?" 

"I  was  so  occupied  with  your  interminable  yarns  that 
I  forgot  to  think  about  it.  Miss  Grace,  for  your  sake  and 
on  this  evening,  I  might  wish  that  there  was  a  coolness  be 
tween  us,  but  from  your  kind  greeting  I  see  there  is  not. 
Good- evening,  major;  I  have  brought  with  me  a  slight  proof 
that  I  do  not  forget  my  friends;"  and  he  handed  him  a 
large  package  of  newspapers,  several  of  them  being  finely 
illustrated  foreign  prints. 

"I  promote  you  on  the  spot,"  cried  the  delighted  vet 
eran.  "I  felt  that  fate  owed  me  some  amends  for  this  long, 
horrid  day.  My  paper  did  not  come  this  morning,  and  I 
had  too  much  regard  for  the  lives  of  my  household  to  send 
any  one  up  the  hot  streets  after  one." 

"Oh,  papa!"  cried  Grace,  "forgive  me  that  I  did 
not  discover  the  fact.  I'm  sure  I  saw  you  reading  a 
paper. ' ' 

"It  was  an  old  one.     1  read  it  through  again,  advertise- 


120  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

merits  and  all.  Oh,  I  know  you.  You'd  have  turned  out 
the  whole  garrison  at  twelve  M.,  had  you  found  it  out." 

Graham  dropped  carelessly  into  an  easy-chair,  and  they 
all  noted  the  pleasure  with  which  the  old  gentleman  ad 
justed  his  glasses,  and  scanned  the  pictures  of  the  world's 
current  history.  Like  many  whose  sight  is  failing,  and  to 
whom  the  tastes  and  memories  of  childhood  are  returning, 
the  poor  old  man  found  increasing  delight  in  a  picture 
which  suggested  a  great  deal,  and  aided  him  to  imagine 
more;  and  he  would  often  beguile  his  tedium  by  the  hour 
with  the  illustrated  journals. 

"Mr.  Graham,"  said  Grace,  after  a  pause  in  their  talk, 
"have  you  seen  your  aunt  since  your  return  ?" 

"No,"  he  replied,  turning  hastily  toward  her. 

"She  is  not  very  well;  I've  been  to  see  her  twice." 

He  gave  her  a  momentary  but  searching  glance,  rose  in 
stantly,  and  said:  "Please  excuse  me,  then.  I  feel  guilty 
that  I  have  delayed  a  moment,  but  this  piazza,  was  so  invit 
ing!"  and  he  hastened  away. 

"Does  he  look  and  act  like  a  man  who  'hid  a  secret 
sorrow'  ?"  whispered  Hilland,  confidently.  "I  never  saw 
him  appear  so  well  before. ' ' 

Grace  smiled,  but  kept  her  thoughts  to  herself.  To  her 
also  Graham  had  never  appeared  so  well.  There  was  deci 
sion  in  his  step  and  slightest  movement.  The  old  easy 
saunter  of  leisure  was  gone;  the  old  half -dreamy  and 
slightly  cynical  eyes  of  the  student  showed  a  purpose 
which  was  neither  slight  nor  indefinite;  and  that  brief, 
searching  glance — what  else  could  it  be  than  a  query  as 
to  the  confidences  his  aunt  may  have  bestowed  during  the 
day?  Moreover,  why  did  he  avoid  looking  at  her  unless 
there  was  distinct  occasion  for  his  glance  ? 

She  would  have  known  too  well  had  she  heard  poor 
Graham  mutter:  "My  will  must  be  made  of  Bessemer  steel 
if  I  can  see  her  often  as  she  looked  to-night  and  live." 

In  the  evening  Hilland  walked  over  to  call  on  his  friend 
and  make  inquiries.  Through  the  parlor  windows  he  saw 


NOBLE   DECEPTION  121 

Graham  reading  to  his  aunt,  who  reclined  on  a  lounge ;  and 
he  stole  away  again  without  disturbing  them. 

The  next  few  days  passed  uneventfully  away,  and  Gra 
ham's  armor  was  almost  proof  against  even  the  penetration 
of  Grace.  He  did  not  assume  any  mask  of  gayety.  He 
seemed  to  be  merely  his  old  self,  with  a  subtle  difference, 
and  a  very  unobtrusive  air  of  decision  in  all  his  move 
ments.  He  was  with  his  friend  a  great  deal;  and  she  heard 
them  talking  over  their  old  life  with  much  apparent  zest, 
He  was  as  good  company  for  the  major  as  ever,  and  when  at 
whist  played  so  good  a  game  as  to  show  that  he  was  giving 
it  careful  attention.  There  was  a  gentleness  toward  his  aunt 
that  rather  belied  his  character  of  stoic  philosopher.  In 
deed,  he  seemed  to  have  dropped  this  phase  also,  and  was 
simply  a  well-bred  man  of  the  world,  avoiding  reference  to 
himself,  and  his  past  or  present  views,  as  far  as  possible. 

To  a  question  of  Hilland's  one  day  he  replied:  "No;  I 
shall  not  go  back  to  my  studies  at  present.  As  I  told  you 
the  other  night,  my  excursion  into  the  world  has  shown 
me  the  advantage  of  studying  it  more  fully.  While  I  shall 
never  be  a  Crcssus  like  yourself,  I  am  modestly  indepen 
dent;  and  I  mean  to  see  the  world  we  live  in,  and  then  shall 
know  better  what  I  am  studying  about." 

When  flilland  told  Grace  of  this  purpose,  she  felt  it  was 
in  keeping  with  all  the  rest.  It  might  mean  what  was  on 
the  surface;  it  might  mean  more.  It  might  be  a  part  of  the 
possible  impulse  that  had  driven  him  into  the  Vermont 
woods,  or  the  natural  and  rational  step  he  would  have  taken 
had  he  never  seen  her.  At  any  rate,  she  felt  that  he  was 
daily  growing  more  remote,  and  that  by  a  nice  gradation 
of  effort  he  was  consciously  withdrawing  himself.  And 
yet  she  could  scarcely  dwell  on  a  single  word  or  act,  and 
say:  "This  proves  it."  His  manner  toward  her  was  most 
cordial.  When  they  conversed  he  looked  at  her  steadily 
and  directly,  and  would  respond  in  kind  to  her  mirthful 
words  and  Hilland's  broad  raillery;  but  she  never  detected 
one  of  the  furtive,  lingering  glances  that  she  now  remem- 
F— ROE— xin 


122  BIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

bered  with  compunction  were  once  frequent.  It  was  quite 
proper  that  this  should  be  so,  but  it  was  unnatural.  If 
hitherto  she  had  only  pleased  his  taste  and  satisfied  his 
reason,  it  would  be  a  safe  and  harmless  pastime  for  him  to 
linger  near  her  still  in  thought  and  reality.  If  he  was  strug 
gling  with  a  passion  that  had  struck  its  root  deep,  then  there 
was  good  reason  for  that  steady  withdrawal  from  her  society 
which  he  managed  so  naturally  that  no  one  observed  it  but 
herself.  Hilland  had  no  misgivings,  and  she  suggested 
none;  but  whenever  she  was  in  the  presence  of  Graham  or 
Mrs.  Mayburn,  although  their  courtesy  and  kind  manner 
were  unexceptionable,  she  felt  there  was  "something  in 
the  *ir." 


"I   WISH  HE   HAD   KNOWN"  123 


CHAPTER  XV 

"I   WISH   HE   HAD   KNOWN" 

THE  heat  continued  so  oppressive  that  the  major  gave 
signs  of  prostration,  and  Grace  decided  to  take  him 
to  his  old  haunt  by  the  seashore.  The  seclusion  of 
their  cottage  was,  of  course,  more  agreeable  to  Hilland  and 
herself  under  the  circumstances;  but  Grace  never  hesitated 
when  her  father  was  concerned.  Shortly  after  the  decision 
was  reached,  Hilland  met  his  friend,  and  promptly  urged 
that  he  and  Mrs.  Mayburn  should  accompany  them. 

"Certainly,"  was  the  quiet  reply,  "if  my  aunt  wishes 
to  go." 

But  for  some  cause,  if  not  for  the  reasons  given,  the  old 
lady  was  inexorable  that  evening,  even  though  the  major 
with  much  gallantry  urged  her  compliance.  She  did  not 
like  the  seashore.  It  did  not  agree  with  her;  and,  what  was 
worse,  she  detested  hotels.  She  was  better  in  her  own  quiet 
nook,  etc.  Alford  might  go,  if  he  chose. 

But  Graham  when  appealed  to  said  it  was  both  his  duty 
and  his  pleasure  to  remain  with  his  aunt,  especially  as  he 
was  going  abroad  as  soon  as  he  could  arrange  his  affairs. 
"Don't  put  on  that  injured  air,"  he  added,  laughingly,  to 
Hilland.  "  As  if  you  needed  me  at  present !  You  two  are 
sufficient  for  yourselves;  and  why  should  I  tramp  after  you 
like  the  multitude  I  should  be?" 

"What  do  you  know  about  our  being  sufficient  for  our 
selves,  I'd  like  to  ask?"  was  the  bantering  response. 

"I  have  the  best  authority  for  saying  what  I  do — written 
authority,  and  that  of  a  sage,  too.  Here  it  is,  heavily  under- 


124  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

scored  by  a  hand  that  I  imagine  is  as  heavy  as  your  own. 
Ah!  Miss  Grace's  conscious  looks  prove  that  I  am  right," 
he  added,  as  he  laid  the  open  volume  of  Emerson,  which 
he  had  returned,  before  her.  "I  remember  reading  that 
paragraph  the  first  evening  I  came  to  my  aunt's  house;  and 
I  thought  it  a  very  curious  statement.  It  made  me  feel  as 
if  I  were  a  sort  of  polyp  or  mollusk,  instead  of  a  man." 

"Let  me  see  the  book,"  cried  Hilland.  "Oh,  yes,"  he 
continued,  laughing;  "I  remember  it  all  well — the  hopes, 
the  misgivings  with  which  I  sent  the  volume  eastward  on 
its  mission — the  hopes  and  fears  that  rose  when  the  book 
was  acknowledged  with  no  chidings  or  coldness,  and  also 
with  no  allusions  to  the  marked  passage — the  endless  sur 
mises  as  to  what  this  gentle  reader  would  think  of  the 
sentiments  within  these  black  lines.  Ha!  ha!  Graham. 
No  doubt  but  this  is  Sanscrit;  and  all  the  professors  of 
all  the  universities  could  not  interpret  it  to  you. ' ' 

"That's  what  I  said  in  substance  on  the  evening  referred 
to — that  Emerson  never  learned  this  at  a  university.  I  con 
fess  that  it's  an  experience  that  is  and  ever  will  be  beyond 
me.  But  it's  surely  good  authority  for  remaining  here  with 
my  aunt,  who  needs  me  more  than  you  do." 

"How  is  it,  then,  Mr.  Graham,  that  you  can  leave  your 
aunt  for  months  of  travel  ?"  Grace  asked. 

"Why,  Grace,"  spoke  up  Mrs.  Mayburn,  quickly,  "you 
cannot  expect  Alford  to  transform  himself  into  an  old  lady's 
life-long  attendant.  He  will  enjoy  his  travel  and  come  back 
to  me." 

The  young  girl  made  no  answer,  but  thought:  "Their 
defensive  alliance  is  a  strong  one." 

"Besides,"  continued  the  old  lady,  after  a  moment,  "I 
think  it's  very  kind  of  him  to  remain  with  me,  instead  of 
going  to  the  beach  for  his  own  pleasure  and  the  marring 
of  yours." 

"Now,  that's  putting  it  much  too  strong, "  cried  Hilland. 
"Graham  never  marred  our  pleasure." 

"And  I  hope  he  never  will,"  was  the  low,  earnest  re- 


"/    WISH  HE   HAD    KNOWN"  125 

spouse.  To  Grace's  ear  it  sounded  more  like  a  vow  or  the 
expression  of  a  controlling  purpose  than  like  a  mere  friendly 
remark. 

The  next  day  the  St.  John  cottage  was  alive  with  the 
bustle  of  preparation  for  departure.  Graham  made  no  offi 
cious  offers  of  assistance,  which,  of  course,  would  be  futile, 
but  quietly  devoted  himself  to  the^major.  Whenever  Grace 
appeared  from  the  upper  regions,  she  found  her  father 
amused  or  interested,  and  she  smiled  her  gratitude.  In  the 
evening  she  found  a  chance  to  say  in  a  low  aside:  "Mr. 
Graham,  you  are  keeping  your  word  to  be  my  friend.  If 
the  sea-breezes  prove  as  beneficial  to  papa  as  your  society 
to-day,  I  shall  be  glad  indeed.  You  don't  know  how  much 
you  have  aided  me  by  entertaining  him  so  kindly." 

Both  her  tone  and  glance  were  very  gentle  as  she  spoke 
these  words,  and  for  a  moment  his  silence  and  manner  per 
plexed  her.  Then  he  replied  lightly:  "You  are  mistaken, 
Miss  Grace.  Your  father  has  been  entertaining  me." 

They  were  interrupted  at  this  point,  and  Graham  seemed 
to  grow  more  remote  than  ever. 

Hilland  was  parting  from  his  friend  with  evident  and 
sincere  regret.  He  had  made  himself  very  useful  in  pack 
ing,  strapping  trunks,  and  in  a  general  eagerness  to  save  his 
betrothed  from  all  fatigue;  but  whenever  occasion  offered 
he  would  sally  forth  upon  Graham,  who,  with  the  major, 
followed  the  shade  on  the  piazza.  Some  jocular  speech 
usually  accompanied  his  appearance,  and  he  always  re 
ceived  the  same  in  kind  with  such  liberal  interest  that  he 
remarked  to  Grace  more  than  once,  "You  are  the  only  be 
ing  in  the  world  for  whom  I'd  leave  Graham  during  his  brief 
stay  in  this  land." 

"Oh,  return  to  him  by  all  means,"  she  had  said  archly 
upon  one  occasion.  "We  did  very  well  alone  last  year  be 
fore  we  were  aware  of  your  existence." 

"  You  may  not  care,"  was  his  merry  response,  "but  it  is 
written  in  one  of  the  oldest  books  of  the  world,  'It  is  not 
good  for  man  to  be  alone.'  Oh,  Grace,  what  an  infinite 


126  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

difference  there  is  between  love  for  a  woman  like  you  and 
the  strongest  friendship  between  man  and  man!  Graham 
just  suits  me  as  a  friend.  After  a  separation  of  years  I  find 
him  just  the  same  even-pulsed,  half-cynical,  yet  genial  good 
fellow  he  always  was.  It's  hard  to  get  within  his  shell;  but 
when  you  do,  you  find  the  kernel  sweet  and  sound  to  the 
core,  even  if  it  is  rather  dry.  From  the  time  we  struck 
hands  as  boys  there  has  never  been  an  unpleasant  jar  in 
our  relations.  We  supplement  each  other  marvellously; 
but  how  infinitely  more  and  beyond  all  this  is  your  love ! 
How  it  absorbs  and  swallows  up  every  other  consideration, 
so  that  one  hour  with  you  is  more  to  me  than  an  age  with 
all  the  men  of  wit  and  wisdom  that  ever  lived!  No;  I'm 
not  a  false  friend  when  I  say  that  I  am  more  than  content 
to  go  and  remain  with  you;  and  if  Graham  had  a  hundredth 
part  as  much  heart  as  brains  he  would  understand  me.  In 
deed,  his  very  intellect  serves  in  the  place  of  a  heart  after  a 
fashion;  for  he  took  Emerson  on  trust  so  intelligently  as  to 
comprehend  that  I  should  not  be  inconsolable." 

"Mr.  Graham  puzzles  me,"  Grace  had  remarked,  as  she 
absently  inspected  the  buttons  on  one  of  her  father's  vests. 
"I  never  met  just  such  a  man  before." 

"And  probably  never  will  again.  He  has  been  isolated 
und  peculiar  from  childhood.  I  know  him  well,  and  he  has 
changed  but  little  in  essentials  since  I  left  him  over  two 
years  ago." 

"I  wish  I  had  your  complacent  belief  about  him,"  was 
her  mental  conclusion.  "I  sometimes  think  you  are  right, 
and  again  I  feel  as  if  some  one  in  almost  mortal  pain  is  near 
me,  and  that  I  am  to  blame  in  part. ' ' 

Whist  was  dispensed  with  the  last  night  they  were  to 
gether,  for  the  evening  was  close,  and  all  were  weary. 
Grace  thought  Graham  looked  positively  haggard;  but, 
whether  by  design  or  chance,  he  kept  in  the  shadows  of 
the  piazza  most  of  the  time.  Still  she  had  to  admit  that 
he  was  the  life  of  the  party.  Mrs.  Mayburn  was  apparently 
so  overcome  by  the  heat  as  to  be  comparatively  silent;  and 


"7    WISH   HE   HAD   KNOWN"  127 

Hilland  openly  admitted  that  the  July  day  and  his  exertions 
had  used  him  up.  Therefore  the  last  gathering  at  the  St. 
Johns'  cottage  came  to  a  speedy  end;  and  Graham  not  only 
said  good-night,  but  also  good- by;  for,  as  he  explained,  busi 
ness  called  him  to  town  early  the  following  morning.  He 
parted  fraternally  with  Hilland,  giving  a  promise  to  spend 
a  day  with  him  before  he  sailed  for  Europe.  Then  he  broke 
away,  giving  Grace  as  a  farewell  only  a  strong,  warm  pres 
sure  of  the  hand,  and  hastened  after  his  aunt,  who  had 
walked  on  slowly  before.  The  major,  after  many  friendly 
expressions,  had  retired  quite  early  in  the  evening. 

Grace  saw  the  dark  outline  of  Graham's  form  disappear 
like  a  shadow,  and  every  day  thereafter  he  grew  more  shad 
owy  to  her.  To  a  degree  she  did  not  imagine  possible  he 
had  baffled  her  scrutiny  and  left  her  in  doubt.  Either  he 
had  quietly  and  philosophically  accepted  the  situation,  or 
he  wished  her  to  think  so.  In  either  case  there  was  noth 
ing  to  be  done.  Once  away  with  father  and  lover  she  had 
her  world  with  her;  and  life  grew  richer  and  more  full  of 
content  every  day. 

Lassitude  and  almost  desperate  weariness  were  in  Gra 
ham's  step  as  he  came  up  the  path  the  following  evening, 
for  there  was  no  further  reason  to  keep  up  the  part  he  was 
acting.  When  he  greeted  his  aunt  he  tried  to  appear  cheer 
ful,  but  she  said  gently,  "Put  on  no  mask  before  me,  Al- 
ford.  Make  no  further  effort.  You  have  baffled  even 
Grace,  and  thoroughly  satisfied  your  friend  that  all  is  well. 
Let  the  strain  cease  now;  and  let  my  home  be  a  refuge  while 
you  remain.  Your  wound  is  one  that  time  only  can  heal. 
You  have  made  an  heroic  struggle  not  to  mar  their  happi 
ness,  and  I  am  proud  of  you  for  it.  But  don't  try  to  de 
ceive  me  or  put  the  spur  any  longer  to  your  jaded  spirit. 
Eeaction  into  new  hopes  and  a  new  life  will  come  all  the 
sooner  if  you  give  way  for  the  present  to  your  mood." 

The  wise  old  woman  would  have  been  right  in  dealing 
with  most  natures.  But  Graham  would  not  give  way  to  his 
bitter  disappointment,  and  for  him  there  would  come  no  re. 


128  BIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

action.  He  quietly  read  to  her  the  evening  papers,  and  af 
ter  she  had  retired  stole  out  and  gazed  for  hours  on  the  St. 
John  cottage,  the  casket  that  had  contained  for  him  the  jewel 
of  the  world.  Then,  compressing  his  lips,  he  returned  to  his 
room  with  the  final  decision,  "I  will  be  her  friend  for  life; 
but  it  must  be  an  absent  friend.  I  think  my  will  is  strong; 
but  half  the  width  of  the  world  must  be  between  us." 

For  the  next  two  weeks  he  sought  to  prepare  his  aunt  for 
a  long  separation.  He  did  not  hide  his  feeling;  indeed,  he 
spoke  of  it  with  a  calmness  which,  while  it  surprised,  also 
convinced  her  that  it  would  dominate  his  life.  She  was 
made  to  see  clearly  the  necessity  of  his  departure,  if  he 
would  keep  his  promise  to  live  and  do  his  best.  He  prom 
ised  to  be  a  faithful  and  voluminous  correspondent,  and  she 
knew  she  would  live  upon  his  letters.  After  the  lapse  of 
three  weeks  he  had  arranged  his  affairs  so  as  to  permit  a 
long  absence,  and  then  parted  with  his  aunt  as  if  he  had 
been  her  son. 

"Alford,"  she  said,  "all  that  I  have  is  yours,  as  you  will 
find  in  my  will." 

"Dear  aunty,"  was  his  reply,  "in  giving  me  your  love 
you  have  given  me  all  that  I  crave.  I  have  more  than 
enough  for  my  wants.  Forgive  me  that  I  cannot  stay ;  but 
I  cannot.  I  have  learned  the  limit  of  my  power  of  endur 
ance.  I  know  that  I  cannot  escape  myself  or  my  memories, 
but  new  scenes  divert  my  thoughts.  Here,  I  believe,  I 
should  go  mad,  or  else  do  something  wild  and  desperate. 
Forgive  me,  and  do  not  judge  me  harshly  because  I  leave 
you.  Perhaps  some  day  this  fever  of  unrest  will  pass  away, 
When  it  does,  rest  assured  you  shall  see  me  again." 

He  then  went  to  the  seaside  resort  where  Hilland  with 
the  major  and  his  daughter  was  sojourning,  and  never  had 
they  seen  a  man  who  appeared  so  far  removed  from  the 
lackadaisical,  disconsolate  lover.  His  dress  was  elegant,  al 
though  very  quiet,  his  step  firm  and  prompt,  and  his  man 
ner  that  of  a  man  who  is  thoroughly  master  of  the  situation. 
The  major  was  ill  from  an  indiscretion  at  the  table  during 


'/   WISH   HE   HAD    KNOWN"  129 

the  preceding  day,  and  Grace  could  not  leave  him  very 
long.  He  sent  to  his  favorite  companion  and  antagonist  at 
whist  many  feeling  messages  and  sincere  good  wishes,  and 
they  lost  nothing  in  hearty  warmth  as  they  came  from 
Grace's  lips;  and  for  some  reason,  which  she  could  scarcely 
explain  to  herself,  tears  came  into  her  eyes  as  she  gave  him 
her  hand  in  parting. 

He  had  been  laughing  and  jesting  vivaciously  a  moment 
before;  but  as  he  looked  into  her  face,  so  full  of  kindly  feel 
ing  which  she  could  not  wholly  repress,  his  own  seemed  to 
grow  rigid,  and  the  hand  she  held  was  so  cold  and  tense  as 
to  remind  her  of  a  steel  gauntlet.  In  the  supreme  effort  of 
his  spiritual  nature  he  belied  his  creed.  His  physical  being 
was  powerless  in  the  grasp  of  the  dominant  soul.  No  mar 
tyr  at  the  stake  ever  suffered  more  than  he  at  that  moment, 
but  he  merely  said  with  quiet  emphasis,  "Good- by,  Grace 
St.  John.  I  shall  not  forget  my  promise,  nor  can  there 
come  a  day  on  which  I  shall  not  wish  you  all  the  happiness 
you  deserve." 

He  then  bowed  gravely  and  turned  away.  She  hastilv 
sought  her  room,  and  then  burst  into  an  irrepressible  pas 
sion  of  tears.  "It's  all  in  vain,"  she  sobbed.  "I  felt  it. 
I  know  it.  He*  suffers  as  I  should  suffer,  and  his  iron  will 
cannot  disguise  the  truth." 

The  friends  strolled  away  up  the  beach  for  their  final 
talk,  and  at  length  Hilland  came  back  in  a  somewhat  pen 
sive  but  very  complacent  mood.  Grace  looked  at  him  anx 
iously,  but  his  first  sentences  reassured  her. 

"Well,"  he  exclaimed,  "if  Graham  is  odd,  he's  certainly 
the  best  and  most  sensible  fellow  that  ever  lived,  and  the 
most  steadfast  of  friends.  Here  we've  been  separated  for 
years,  and  yet,  for  any  change  in  his  attitude  toward  me, 
we  might  have  parted  overnight  at  the  university.  He  was 
as  badly  smitten  by  the  girl  I  love  as  a  man  of  his  tempera 
ment  could  be;  but  on  learning  the  facts  he  recognizes  the 
situation  with  a  quiet  good  taste  which  leaves  nothing  to  be 
desired.  He  made  it  perfectly  clear  to  me  that  travel  for 


130  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

the  present  was  only  a  broader  and  more  effective  way  of 
continuing  his  career  as  a  student,  and  that  when  tired  of 
wandering  he  can  go  back  to  books  with  a  larger  knowledge 
of  how  to  use  them.  One  thing  he  has  made  clearer  still — 
if  we  do  not  see  each  other  for  ten  years,  he  will  come  back 
the  same  stanch  friend." 

"I  think  you  are  right,  Warren.  He  certainly  has  won 
my  entire  respect." 

"I'm  glad  he  didn't  win  anything  more,  sweetheart." 

"That  ceased  to  be  possible  long  before  he  came,  but  I 
— I  wish  he  had  known  it,"  was  her  hesitating  response,  as 
she  pushed  Hilland's  hair  back  from  his  heated  brow. 

"Nonsense,  you  romantic  little  woman!  You  imagine 
he  has  gone  away  with  a  great  gaping  wound  in  his  heart. 
Graham  is  the  last  man  in  the  world  for  that  kind  of  thing, 
and  no  one  would  smile  more  broadly  than  he,  did  he  know 
of  your  gentle  solicitude." 

Grace  was  silent  a  moment,  and  then  stole  away  to  her 
father's  side. 

The  next  tidings  they  had  of  Graham  was  a  letter  dated 
among  the  fiords  and  mountains  of  Norway. 

At  times  no  snowy  peak  in  that  wintry  land  seemed  more 
shadowy  or  remote  to  Grace  than  he.  Again,  while  passing 
to  and  fro  between  their  own  and  Mrs.  Mayburn's  cottage  in 
the  autumn,  she  would  see  him,  with  almost  the  vividness  of 
life,  deathly  pale  as  when  he  leaned  against  the  apple-tree  at 
their  well-remembered  interview. 


THE   CLOUD   IN    THE   SOUTH  181 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE   CLOUD   IN   THE   SOUTH 

THE  summer  heat  passed  speedily,  and  the  major  re 
turned  to  his  cottage  invigorated  and  very  compla 
cent  over  his  daughter's  prospects.  Hilland  had 
proved  himself  as  manly  and  devoted  a  lover  as  he  had 
been  an  ardent  and  eventually  patient  suitor.  The  bub 
bling,  overflowing  stream  of  happiness  in  Grace's  heart 
deepened  into  a  wide  current,  bearing  her  on  from  day  to 
day  toward  a  future  that  promised  to  satisfy  every  longing 
of  her  woman's  heart.  There  was,  of  course,  natural  regret 
that  Hilland  was  constrained  to  spend  several  months  in  the 
West  in  order  to  settle  up  his  large  interests  with  a  due  re 
gard  to  the  rights  of  others,  and  yet  she  would  not  have  it 
otherwise.  She  was  happy  in  his  almost  unbounded  devo 
tion;  she  would  have  been  less  happy  had  this  devotion 
kept  him  at  her  side  when  his  man's  part  in  the  world  re 
quired  his  presence  elsewhere.  Therefore  she  bade  him 
farewell  with  a  heart  that  was  not  so  very  heavy,  even 
though  tears  gemmed  her  eyes. 

The  autumn  and  early  winter  months  lapsed  quietly  and 
uneventfully,  and  the  inmates  of  the  two  cottages  ever  re 
membered  that  period  of  their  lives  as  the  era  of  letters — 
Graham's  from  over  the  sea  abounding  in  vivid  descriptions 
of  scenes  that  to  Mrs.  May  burn's  interested  eyes  were  like 
glimpses  of  another  world,  and  Hilland's,  even  more  volu 
minous  and  infinitely  more  interesting  to  one  fair  reader,  to 
whom  they  were  sacred  except  as  *  she  doled  out  occasional 


182  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

paragraphs  which  related  sufficiently  to  the  general  order  of 
things  to  be  read  aloud. 

Graham's  letters,  however,  had  a  deep  interest  to  Grace, 
who  sought  to  trace  in  them  the  working  of  his  mind  in  re 
gard  to  herself.  She  found  it  difficult,  for  his  letters  were 
exceedingly  impersonal,  while  the  men  and  things  he  saw 
often  stood  out  upon  his  page  with  vivid  realism.  It  seemed 
to  her  that  he  grew  more  shadowy,  and  that  he  was  wander 
ing  rather  than  travelling,  drifting  whithersoever  his  fancy 
or  circumstances  pointed  the  way.  It  was  certain  he  avoided 
the  beaten  paths,  and  freely  indulged  his  taste  for  regions 
remote  and  comparatively  unknown.  His  excuse  was  that 
life  was  far  more  picturesque  and  unhackneyed,  with  a 
chance  for  an  occasional  adventure,  in  lands  where  one 
was  not  jostled  by  people  with  guide-books — that  he  saw 
men  and  women  as  the  influences  of  the  ages  had  been  fash 
ioning  them,  and  not  conventionalized  by  the  mode  of  the 
hour.  "Chief  of  all,"  he  concluded,  jestingly,  "I  can  send 
to  my  dear  aunt  descriptions  of  people  and  scenery  that  she 
will  not  find  better  set  forth  in  half  a  dozen  books  within 
her  reach." 

After  a  month  in  Norway,  he  crossed  the  mountains  into 
Sweden,  and  as  winter  approached  drifted  rapidly  to  the 
south  and  east.  One  of  his  letters  was  dated  at  the  entrance 
of  the  Himalayas  in  India,  and  expressed  his  purpose  to 
explore  one  of  the  grandest  mountain  systems  in  the  world. 

Mrs.  May  burn  gloated  over  the  letters,  and  Grace  laugh 
ingly  told  her  she  had  learned  more  about  geography  since 
her  nephew  had  gone  abroad  than  in  all  her  life  before. 
The  major,  also,  was  deeply  interested  in  them,  especially 
as  Graham  took  pains  in  his  behalf  to  give  some  account  of 
the  military  organizations  with  which  he  came  in  contact. 
They  had  little  of  the  nature  of  a  scientific  report.  The 
soldier,  his  life  and  weapons,  were  sketched  with  a  free 
hand  merely,  and  so  became  even  to  the  ladies  a  pictu 
resque  figure  rather  than  a  military  abstraction.  From  time 
to  time  a  letter  appeared  in  Mrs.  Mayburn's  favorite  journal 


THE  CLOUD  IN  THE  SOUTH          133 

signed  by  the  initials  of  the  traveller;  and  these  epistles  she 
cut  out  and  pasted  most  carefully  in  a  book  which  Grace 
jestingly  called  her  "family  Bible." 

But  as  time  passed,  Graham  occupied  less  and  less 
space  in  the  thoughts  of  all  except  his  aunt.  The  major's 
newspaper  became  more  absorbing  than  ever,  for  the  clouds 
gathering  in  the  political  skies  threatened  evils  that  seemed 
to  him  without  remedy.  Strongly  Southern  and  conserva 
tive  in  feeling,  he  was  deeply  incensed  at  what  he  termed 
"Northern  fanaticism."  Only  less  hateful  to  him  was  a 
class  in  the  South  known  in  the  parlance  of  the  times  as 
"fire-eaters." 

All  through  the  winter  and  spring  of  1860  he  had  his 
"daily  growl,"  as  Grace  termed  it;  and  she  assured  him  it 
was  growing  steadily  deeper  and  louder.  Yet  it  was  evi 
dently  a  source  of  so  much  comfort  to  him  that  she  always 
smiled  in  secret  over  his  invective — noting,  also,  that  while 
he  deplored  much  that  was  said  and  done  by  the  leaders  of 
the  day,  the  prelude  of  the  great  drama  interested  him  so 
deeply  that  he  half  forgot  his  infirmities.  In  fact,  she  had 
more  trouble  with  Hiliand,  who  had  returned,  and  was 
urging  an  early  date  for  their  marriage.  Her  lover  was  an 
ardent  Republican,  and  hated  slavery  with  New  England 
enthusiasm.  The  arrogance  and  blindness  of  the  South  had 
their  counterpart  at  the  North,  and  Hiliand  had  not  escaped 
the  infection.  He  was  much  inclined  to  belittle  the  re 
sources  of  the  former  section,  to  scoff  at  its  threats,  and 
to  demand  that  the  North  should  peremptorily  and  imperi 
ously  check  all  further  aggressions  of  slavery.  At  first  it 
required  not  a  little  tact  on  the  part  of  Grace  to  preserve 
political  harmony  between  father  and  lover;  but  the  latter 
speedily  recognized  that  the  major's  age  and  infirmities, 
together  with  his  early  associations,  gave  him  almost  un 
limited  privilege  to  think  and  say  what  he  pleased.  Hil 
iand  soon  came  to  hear  with  good-natured  nonchalance  his 
Northern  allies  berated,  and  considered  himself  well  repaid 
by  one  mirthful,  grateful  glance  from  Grace. 


134  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

After  all,  what  was  any  political  squabble  compared  with 
the  fact  that  Grace  had  promised  to  marry  him  in  June  ? 
The  settlement  of  the  difference  between  the  North  and  South 
was  only  a  question  of  time,  and  that,  too,  in  his  belief,  not 
far  remote. 

"Why  should  I  worry  about  it?"  he  said  to  Grace. 
"When  the  North  gets  angry  enough  to  put  its  foot  down, 
all  this  bluster  about  State-rights,  and  these  efforts  to  foist 
slavery  on  a  people  who  are  disgusted  with  it,  will  cease." 

"Take  care,"  she  replied,  archly.  "I'm  a  Southern  girl. 
Think  what  might  happen  if  I  put  my  foot  down." 

"Oh,  when  it  comes  to  you,"  was  his  quick  response, 
"I'm  the  Democratic  party.  I  will  get  down  on  my  knees 
at  any  time;  I'll  yield  anything  and  stand  everything." 

"I  hope  you  will  be  in  just  such  a  frame  of  mind  ten 
years  hence. ' ' 

It  was  well  that  the  future  was  hidden  from  her. 

Hilland  wrote  to  his  friend,  asking,  indeed  almost  insist 
ing,  that  he  should  return  in  time  for  the  wedding.  Graham 
did  not  come,  and  intimated  that  he  was  gathering  materials 
which  might  result  in  a  book.  He  sent  a  letter,  however, 
addressed  to  them  both,  and  full  of  a  spirit  of  such  loyal 
good- will  that  Hilland  said  it  was  like  a  brother's  grip. 
"Well,  well,"  he  concluded,  "if  Graham  has  the  book- 
making  fever  upon  him,  we  shall  have  to  give  him  up 
indefinitely. ' ' 

Grace  was  at  first  inclined  to  take  the  same  view,  feeling 
that,  even  if  he  had  been  sorely  wounded,  his  present  life 
and  the  prospects  it  gave  of  authorship  had  gained  so  great 
a  fascination  that  he  would  come  back  eventually  with  only 
a  memory  of  what  he  had  suffered.  Her  misgivings,  how 
ever,  returned  when,  on  seeing  the  letter,  Mrs.  May  burn's 
eyes  became  suddenly  dimmed  with  tears.  She  turned  away 
abruptly  and  seemed  vexed  with  herself  for  having  shown 
the  emotion,  but  only  said  quietly,  "I  once  thought  Alford 
had  no  heart;  but  that  letter  was  not  written  'oat  of  his 
head,'  as  we  used  to  say  when  children." 


THE   CLOUD   IN   THE   SOUTH  135 

She  gave  Grace  no  reason  to  complain  oi  any  lack  of 
affectionate  interest  in  her  preparations;  and  when  the  wed 
ding  day  came  she  assured  the  blushing  girl  that  "no  one 
had  ever  looked  upon  a  lovelier  bride." 

Ever  mindful  of  her  father,  Grace  would  take  no  wed 
ding  journey,  although  her  old  friend  offered  to  come  and 
care  for  him.  She  knew  well  how  essential  her  voice  and 
hand  were  to  his  comfort;  and  she  would  not  permit  him  to 
entertain,  even  for  a  moment,  the  thought  that  in  any  sense 
he  had  lost  her.  So  they  merely  returned  to  his  favorite 
haunt  by  the  sea,  and  Hilland  was  loyal  to  the  only  condi 
tion  in  their  engagement — that  she  should  be  permitted  to 
keep  her  promise  to  her  dying  mother,  and  never  leave  her 
father  to  the  care  of  others,  unless  under  circumstances 
entirely  beyond  her  control. 

Later  in  the  season  Mrs.  Mayburn  joined  them  at  the 
beach,  for  she  found  her  life  at  the  cottage  too  lonely  to  be 
endured. 

It  was  a  summer  of  unalloyed  happiness  to  Hilland  and 
his  wife,  and  the  major  promised  to  renew:  his  youth  in  the 
warm  sunlight  of  his  prosperity.  The  exciting  presidential 
canvass  afforded  abundant  theme  for  the  daily  discussions  in 
his  favorite  corner  of  the  piazza,  where,  surrounded  by  some 
veteran  cronies  whom  he  had  known  in  former  years,  he 
joined  them  in  predictions  and  ominous  head-shakings  over 
the  monstrous  evils  that  would  follow  the  election  of  Mr. 
Lincoln.  Hilland,  sitting  in  the  background  with  Grace, 
would  listen  and  stroke  his  tawny  beard  as  he  glanced 
humorously  at  his  wife,  who  knew  that  he  was  working, 
quietly  out  of  deference  to  his  father-in-law,  but  most 
effectively,  in  the  .Republican  campaign.  Although  South 
ern  born  she  had  the  sense  to  grant  to  men  full  liberty  of 
personal  opinion — a  quality  that  it  would  be  well  for  many 
of  her  sisterhood  to  imitate.  Indeed,  she  would  have  de 
spised  a  man  who  had  not  sufficient  force  to  think  for  him 
self;  and  she  loved  her  husband  all  the  more  because  in  some 
of  his  views  he  differed  radically  with  her  father  and  herself. 


136  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

Meantime  the  cloud  gathering  in  the  South  grew  darker 
and  more  portentous;  and  after  the  election  of  President 
Lincoln  the  lightning  of  hate  and  passion  began  to  strike 
from  it  directly  at  the  nation's  life.  The  old  major  was 
both  wrong  and  right  in  regard  to  the  most  prominent  lead 
ers  of  the  day.  Many  whom  he  deemed  the  worst  fanatics 
in  the  land  were  merely  exponents  of  a  public  opinion  that 
was  rising  like  an  irresistible  tide  from  causes  beyond  human 
control — from  the  God-created  conscience  illumined  by  His 
own  truth.  In  regard  to  the  instigators  of  the  Eebellion, 
he  was  right.  Instead  of  representing  their  people,  they 
deceived  and  misled  them;  and,  with  an  astute  understand 
ing  of  the  chivalrous,  hasty  Southern  temper,  they  so 
wrought  upon  their  pride  of  section  by  the  false  presen 
tation  of  fancied  and  prospective  wrongs,  that  loyalty  to 
the  old  flag,  which  at  heart  they  loved,  was  swept  away 
by  the  madness  which  precedes  destruction.  Above  all  and 
directing  all  was  the  God  of  nations;  and  He  had  decreed 
that  slavery,  the  gangrene  in  the  body  politic,  must  be  cut 
out,  even  though  it  should  be  with  the  sword.  The  surgery 
was  heroic,  indeed;  but  as  its  result  the  slave,  and  especially 
the  master  and  his  posterity,  will  grow  into  a  large,  health 
ful,  and  prosperous  life;  and  the  evidences  of  such  life  are 
increasing  daily. 

At  the  time  of  which  I  am  writing,  however,  the  future 
was  not  dreamed  of  by  the  sagacious  Lincoln  even,  or  his 
cabinet,  much  less  was  it  foreseen  by  the  humbler  characters 
of  my  story.  Hilland  after  reading  his  daily  journal  would 
sit  silent  for  a  long  time  with  contracted  brow.  The  white 
heat  of  anger  was  slowly  kindling  in  his  heart  and  in  that  of 
the  loyal  North;  and  the  cloud  in  the  South  began  to  throw 
its  shadow  over  the  hearth  of  the  happy  wife. 

Although  Hilland  hated  slavery  it  incensed  him  beyond 
measure  that  the  South  could  be  made  to  believe  that  the 
North  would  break  through  or  infringe  upon  the  constitu 
tional  safeguards  thrown  around  the  institution.  At  the 
same  time  he  knew,  and  it  seemed  to  him  every  intelligent 


THE   CLOUD    IN   THE   SOUTH  137 

man  should  understand,  that  if  a  sufficient  majority  should 
decide  to  forbid  the  extension  of  the  slave  system  to  new 
territory,  that  should  end  the  question,  or  else  the  Constitu 
tion  was  not  worth  the  paper  on  which  it  was  written. 
"Law  and  order,"  was  his  motto;  and  "All  changes  and 
reforms  under  the  sanction  of  law,  and  at  the  command 
of  the  majority,"  his  political  creed. 

The  major  held  the  Southern  view.  "Slaves  are  prop 
erty,"  he  said;  "and  the  government  is  bound  to  permit  a 
man  to  take  his  property  where  he  pleases,  and  protect  him 
in  all  his  rights."  The  point  where  the  veteran  drew  the 
line  was  in  disloyalty  to  the  flag  which  he  had  sworn  to 
defend,  and  for  which  he  had  become  a  cripple  for  life. 
As  the  Secession  spirit  became  more  rampant  and  open  in 
South  Carolina,  the  weight  of  his  invective  fell  more  heavily 
upon  the  leaders  there  than  upon  the  hitherto  more  detested 
abolitionists. 

When  he  read  the  address  of  Alexander  H.  Stephens, 
delivered  to  the  same  people  on  the  following  evening, 
wherein  that  remarkable  man  said,  "My  object  is  not  to 
stir  up  strife,  but  to  allay  it;  not  to  appeal  to  your  pas 
sions,  but  to  your  reason.  Shall  the  people  of  the  South 
secede  from  the  Union  in  consequence  of  the  election  of 
Mr.  Lincoln?  My  countrymen,  I  tell  you  frankly,  can 
didly,  and  earnestly,  that  I  do  not  think  they  ought  la 
my  judgment  the  election  of  no  man,  constitutionally 
chosen,  is  sufficient  cause  for  any  State  to  separate  from 
the  Union.  It  ought  to  stand  by  and  aid  still  in  maintain 
ing  the  Constitution  of  the  country.  We  are  pledged  to 
maintain  the  Constitution.  Many  of  us  are  sworn  to  sup 
port  it" — when  the  veteran  came  to  these  words,  he  sprang 
to  his  feet  without  a  thought  of  his  crutch,  and  cried  in  a 
tone  with  which  he  would  order  a  charge,  "There  is  the 
man  who  ought  to  be  President  Read  that  speech." 

Hilland  did  read  it  aloud,  and  then  said  thoughtfully, 
"Yes;  if  the  leaders  on  both  sides  were  of  the  stamp  of  Mr. 
Stephens  and  would  stand  firm  all  questions  at  issue  could 


138  HIS    SOMBRE   RIVALS 

be  settled  amicably  under  the  Constitution.  But  I  fear  the 
passion  of  the  South,  fired  by  the  unscrupulous  misrepre 
sentations  of  a  few  ambitious  men,  will  carry  the  Cotton 
States  into  such  violent  disloyalty  that  the  North  in  its  in 
dignation  will  give  them  a  lesson  never  to  be  forgotten." 

"Well!"  shouted  the  major,  "if  they  ever  fire  on  the  old 
flag,  I'll  shoulder  my  crutch  and  march  against  them  myself 
— I  would,  by  heaven!  though  my  own  brother  fired  the 
gun." 

Grace's  merry  laugh  rang  out — for  she  never  lost  a  chance 
to  throw  oil  on  the  troubled  waters — and  she  cried,  "War 
ren,  if  this  thing  goes  on,  you  and  papa  will  stand  shoulder 
to  shoulder." 

But  the  time  for  that  had  not  yet  come.  Indeed,  there 
would  ever  remain  wide  differences  of  opinion  between  the 
two  men.  The  major  believed  that  if  Congress  conceded 
promptly  all  that  the  slave  power  demanded,  "the  dema 
gogues  of  the  South  would  soon  be  without  occupation;" 
while  Hilland  asserted  that  the  whole  thing  originated  in 
bluster  to  frighten  the  North  into  submission,  and  that  the 
danger  was  that  the  unceasing  inflammatory  talk  might  so 
kindle  the  masses  that  they  would  believe  the  lies,  daily 
iterated,  and  pass  beyond  the  control  of  their  leaders. 

When  at  last  South  Carolina  seceded,  and  it  became 
evident  that  other  States  would  follow,  the  major  often  said 
with  bitter  emphasis  that  the  North  would  have  to  pay 
dearly  for  its  sentiment  in  regard  to  the  negro.  In  Hilland 's 
case  strong  exultation  became  a  growing  element  in  his 
anger,  for  he  believed  that  slavery  was  destined  to  receive 
heavier  blows  from  the  mad  zeal  of  its  friends  than  Northern 
abolitionists  could  have  inflicted  in  a  century. 

"If  the  South  casts  aside  constitutional  protection,"  he 
reasoned,  "she  must  take  the  consequences.  After  a  certain 
point  is  passed,  the  North  will  make  sharp,  quick  work  with 
anything  that  interferes  with  her  peace  and  prosperity." 

"The  work  will  be  sharp  enough,  young  man,"  replied 
the  major  testily;  "but  don't  be  sure  about  its  being  quick. 


THE   CLOUD   I'M   THE   SOUTH  139 

If  the  South  once  gets  to  fighting,  I  know  her  people  well 
enough  to  assure  you  that  the  Eepublican  party  can  reach 
its  ends  only  through  seas  of  blood,  if  they  are  ever 
attained. ' ' 

Hilland  made  no  reply — he  never  contradicted  the  old 
gentleman — but  he  wrote  Graham  a  rather  strong  letter 
intimating  that  it  was  time  for  Americans  to  come  home. 

Graham  would  not  have  come,  however,  had  not  Grace, 
who  had  just  returned  from  Mrs.  Mayburn's  cottage,  caused 
a  postscript  to  be  added,  giving  the  information  that  his 
aunt  was  seriously  ill,  and  that  her  physician  thought  it 
might  be  a  long  time  before  she  recovered,  even  if  life  was 
spared. 

This  decided  him  at  once;  and  as  he  thought  he  might 
never  see  his  kind  old  friend  again,  he  bitterly  regretted  that 
he  had  remained  away  so  long.  And  yet  he  felt  he  could 
scarcely  have  done  otherwise;  for  in  bitter  disappointment 
he  found  that  his  passion,  so  far  from  being  conquered,  had, 
by  some  uncontrollable  law  of  his  nature,  simply  grown 
with  time  and  become  interwoven  with  every  fibre  of  his 
nature.  Hitherto  he  had  acted  on  the  principle  that  he 
must  and  would  conquer  it;  but  now  that  duty  called  him 
to  the  presence  of  the  one  whose  love  and  kindness  formed 
an  indisputable  claim  upon  him,  he  began  to  reason  that 
further  absence  was  futile,  that  he  might  as  well  go  back, 
and — as  he  promised  his  aunt — "do  the  best  he  could." 

It  must  be  admitted  that  Hilland 's  broad  hint,  that  in 
the  coming  emergency  Americans  should  be  at  home,  had 
little  weight  with  him.  From  natural  bent  he  had  ever 
been  averse  to  politics.  In  accordance  with  his  theory  of 
evolution,  he  believed  the  negro  was  better  off  in  his 
present  condition  than  he  could  be  in  any  other.  He  was 
the  last  man  to  cherish  an  enthusiasm  for  an  inferior  race. 
Indeed,  he  would  have  much  preferred  it  should  die  out 
altogether  and  make  room  for  better  material.  The  truth 
was  that  his  prolonged  residence  abroad  had  made  the  ques 
tions  of  American  politics  exceedingly  vague  and  inconse- 


140  BIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

quential.  He  believed  them  to  be  ephemeral  to  the  last 
degree — in  the  main,  mere  struggles  of  parties  and  partisans 
for  power  and  spoils;  and  for  their  hopes,  schemes,  and 
stratagems  to  gain  temporary  success,  he  cared  nothing. 

He  had  not  been  an  idler  in  his  prolonged  absence.  In 
the  first  place,  he  had  striven  with  the  whole  force  of  a 
powerful  will  to  subdue  a  useless  passion,  and  had  striven 
in  vain.  He  had  not,  however,  yielded  for  a  day  to  a  dreamy 
melancholy,  but,  in  accordance  with  his  promise  "to  do  his 
best,"  had  been  tireless  in  mental  and  physical  activity. 
The  tendency  to  wander  somewhat  aimlessly  had  ceased, 
and  he  had  adopted  the  plan  of  studying  modern  life  at  the 
old  centres  of  civilization  and  power. 

Hilland's  letter  found  him  in  Egypt,  and  only  a  few 
weeks  had  elapsed  after  its  reception  when,  with  deep 
anxiety,  he  rang  the  bell  at  his  aunt's  cottage  door.  He 
had  not  stopped  to  ask  for  letters  in  London,  for  he  had 
learned  that  by  pushing  right  on  he  could  catch  a  fast  out 
going  steamer  and  save  some  days. 

The  servant  who  admitted  him  uttered  a  cry  of  joy ;  and 
a  moment  later  his  aunt  rose  feebly  from  the  lounge  in  her 
sitting-room,  and  greeted  him  as  her  son. 


PREPARATION  141 


CHAPTEE  XVII 

PREPARATION 

GRAHAM  learned  with  deep  satisfaction  that  the 
dangerous  symptoms  of  his  aunt's  illness  had 
passed  away,  and  that  she  was  now  well  advanced 
in  convalescence.  They  gave  to  each  other  an  hour  or  two 
of  unreserved  confidence;  and  the  old  lady's  eyes  filled 
with  tears  more  than  once  as  she  saw  how  vain  had  been 
her  nephew's  struggle.  It  was  equally  clear,  however,  that 
he  had  gained  strength  and  a  nobler  manhood  in  the  effort; 
and  so  she  told  him. 

"If  supper  is  ready,"  he  replied,  "I'll  prove  to  you  that 
I  am  in  very  fair  condition." 

An  hour  later  he  left  her,  cheerful  and  comparatively 
happy,  for  the  St.  Johns'  cottage.  From  the  piazza  he  saw 
through  the  lighted  windows  a  home-scene  that  he  had  once 
dreamed  might  bless  his  life.  Hilland,  evidently,  was  read 
ing  the  evening  paper  aloud,  and  his  back  was  toward  his 
friend.  The  major  was  nervously  drumming  on  the  table 
with  his  fingers,  and  contracting  his  frosty  eyebrows,  as  if 
perturbed  by  the  news.  But  it  was  on  the  young  wife  that 
Graham's  eyes  dwelt  longest.  She  sat  with  some  sewing  on 
the  further  side  of  the  open  fire,  and  her  face  was  toward 
him.  Had  she  changed?  Yes;  but  for  the  better.  The 
slight  matronly  air  and  fuller  form  that  had  come  with 
wifehood  became  her  better  than  even  her  girlish  grace. 
As  she  glanced  up  to  her  husband  from  time  to  time, 
Graham  saw  serene  loving  trust  and  content. 

"It  is  all  well  with  them,"  he  thought;  "and  so  may 
it  ever  be." 


142  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

A  servant  who  was  passing  out  opened  the  door,  and 
thus  he  was  admitted  without  being  announced,  for  he  cau 
tioned  the  maid  to  say  nothing.  Then  pushing  open  the 
parlor  door,  which  was  ajar,  he  entered,  and  said  quietly: 
"I've  come  over  for  a  game  of  whist." 

But  the  quietness  of  his  greeting  was  not  reciprocated. 
All  rose  hastily,  even  to  the  major,  and  stared  at  him. 
Then  Hilland  half  crushed  the  proffered  hand,  and  the 
major  grasped  the  other,  and  there  came  a  fire  of  exclama 
tions  and  questions  that  for  a  moment  or  two  left  no  space 
for  answer. 

Grace  cried:  "Come,  Warren,  give  Mr.  Graham  a  chance 
to  get  his  breath  and  shake  hands  with  me.  I  propose  to 
count  for  something  in  this  welcome. ' ' 

"Give  him  a  kiss,  sweetheart,"  said  her  delighted  hus 
band. 

Grace  hesitated,  and  a  slight  flush  suffused  her  face. 
Graham  quickly  bent  over  her  hand,  which  he  now  held, 
and  kissed  it,  saying:  "I've  been  among  the  Orientals  so 
long  that  I've  learned  some  of  their  customs  of  paying 
homage.  1  know  that  you  are  queen  here  as  of  old,  and 
that  Hilland  is  by  this  time  the  meekest  of  men." 

"Indeed,  was  I  so  imperious  in  old  times?"  she  asked,  as 
he  threw  himself,  quite  at  home,  into  one  of  the  easy-chairs. 

"You  are  of  those  who  are  born  to  rule.  You  have  a 
way  of  your  own,  however,  which  some  other  rulers  might 
imitate  to  advantage." 

"Well,  my  first  command  is  that  you  give  an  account  of 
yourself.  So  extensive  a  traveller  never  sat  down  at  our 
quiet  fireside  before.  Open  your  budget  of  wonders.  Only 
remember  we  have  some  slight  acquaintance  with  Baron 
Munchausen." 

"The  real  wonders  of  the  world  are  more  wonderful  than 
his  inventions.  Beyond  that  I  hastened  home  by  the  short 
est  possible  route  after  receiving  Hilland' s  letter,  1  have 
little  to  say." 

"I  thought  my  letter  would  stir  you  up." 


PREPARATION  143 

"In  sincerity,  I  must  say  it  did  not.  The  postscript  did, 
however." 

"Then,  in  a  certain  sense,  it  was  I  who  brought  you 
home,  Mr.  Graham,"  said  Grace.  "I  had  just  returned 
from  a  call  on  Mrs.  Mayburn,  and  I  made  Warren  open 
the  letter  and  add  the  postscript.  I  assure  you  we  were 
exceedingly  anxious  about  her  for  weeks." 

"And  from  what  she  has  told  me  I  am  almost  convinced 
that  she  owes  her  life  more  to  you  than  to  her  physician. 
Drugs  go  but  a  little  way,  especially  at  her  time  of  life ;  but 
the  delicacies  and  nourishing  food  you  saw  she  was  provided 
with  so  regularly  rallied  her  strength.  Yes;  it  was  your 
postscript  that  led  to  my  immediate  return,  and  not  Hil- 
land's  political  blast." 

' '  Why, Graham !   Don' t  you  realize  what's  going  on  here  ?' ' 

"Not  very  seriously." 

"You  may  have  to  fight,  old  fellow." 

"I've  no  objections  after  I  have  decided  which  side  to 
take." 

"Good  heavens,  Graham!  you  will  be  mobbed  if  you 
talk  that  way  here  in  New  England.  This  comes  of  a  man's 
living  abroad  so  much  that  he  loses  all  love  for  his  native 
land." 

"Squabbling  politicians  are  not  one's  native  land.  I  am 
not  a  hater  of  slavery  as  you  are;  and  if  it  produces  types 
of  men  and  women  like  that  Southern  lady  of  whom  I  told 
you,  it  must  be  an  excellent  institution. ' ' 

"Oh,  yes,"  cried  Hilland  laughing.  "By  the  way,  Grace, 
my  cool,  cynical  friend  was  once  madly  in  love — at  first 
sight,  too — and  with  a  lady  old  enough  to  be  his  mother.  I 
never  heard  a  woman's  character  sketched  more  tenderly; 
and  his  climax  was  that  your  mother  must  have  closely 
resembled  her." 

"Mr.  Graham  is  right,"  said  the  major  impressively. 
"The  South  produces  the  finest  women  in  the  world;  and 
when  the  North  comes  to  meet  its  men,  as  I  fear  it  must,  it 
will  find  they  are  their  mothers'  sons." 


144  HIS  SOMBRE   RIVALS 

"Poor  Warren!"  cried  Grace;  "here  are  all  three  of  us 
against  you — all  pro-slavery  and  Southern  in  our  sym 
pathies." 

"I  admit  at  once  that  the  South  has  produced  the  finest 
woman  in  the  world,  "  said  Hilland,  taking  his  wife's  hand. 
"But  I  must  add  that  many  of  her  present  productions  are 
not  at  all  to  my  taste;  nor  will  they  be  to  yours,  Graham, 
after  you  have  been  here  long  enough  to  understand  what 
is  going  on — that  is,  if  anything  at  home  can  enlist  your 
interest." 

"I  assure  you  I  am  deeply  interested.  It's  exhilarating 
to  breathe  American  air  now,  especially  so  after  just  coming 
from  regions  where  everything  has  been  dead  for  centuries; 
for  the  people  living  there  now  are  scarcely  alive.  Of  course 
I  obtained  from  the  papers  in  Egypt  very  vague  ideas  of 
what  was  going  on;  and  after  receiving  your  letter  my  mind 
was  too  preoccupied  with  my  aunt's  illness  to  dwell  on 
much  besides.  If  the  flag  which  gave  me  protection  abroad, 
and  under  which  I  was  born,  is  assailed,  I  shall  certainly 
fight  for  it,  even  though  I  may  not  be  in  sympathy  with  the 
causes  which  led  to  the  quarrel.  What  I  said  about  being 
undecided  as  to  which  side  I  would  take  was  a  half -jocular 
way  of  admitting  that  I  need  a  great  deal  of  information; 
and  between  you  and  the  major  I  am  in  a  fair  way  to  hear 
both  sides.  I  cannot  believe,  however,  that  a  civil  war  will 
break  out  in  this  land  of  all  others.  The  very  idea  seems 
preposterous,  and  I  am  not  beyond  the  belief  that  the  whole 
thing  is  political  excitement.  I  have  learned  this  much, 
that  the  old  teachings  of  Calhoun  have  borne  their  legiti 
mate  fruit,  and  that  the  Cotton  States  by  some  hocus-pocus 
legislation  declare  themselves  out  of  the  Union.  But  then 
the  rational,  and  to  my  mind  inevitable,  course  will  be,  that 
the  representative  men  of  both  sides  will  realize  at  last  to 
what  straits  their  partisanship  is  bringing  them,  and  so 
come  together  and  adjust  their  real  or  fancied  grievances. 
Meanwhile,  the  excitement  will  die  out;  and  a  good  many 
Will  have  a  dim  consciousness  that  they  have  made  fools 


PREPARATION  145 

of  themselves,  and  go  quietly  about  their  own  business  the 
rest  of  their  days." 

"Graham,  you  don't  know  anything  about  the  true  state 
of  affairs,"  said  Hilland;  and  before  the  evening  was  over 
he  proved  his  words  true  to  his  friend,  who  listened  atten 
tively  to  the  history  of  his  native  land  for  the  past  few 
months.  In  conclusion,  Hilland  said,  "At  one  time — not 
very  long  ago,  either — I  held  your  opinion  that  it  was  the 
old  game  of  bluster  and  threatening  on  the  part  of  South 
ern  politicians.  But  they  are  going  too  far;  they  have  al 
ready  gone  too  far.  In  seizing  the  United  States  forts  and 
other  property,  they  have  practically  waged  war  against  the 
government.  My  opinions  have  changed  from  week  to  week 
under  the  stern  logic  of  events,  and  I  now  believe  that  the 
leading  spirits  in  the  South  mean  actual  and  final  separa 
tion.  I've  no  doubt  that  they  hope  to  effect  their  purpose 
peaceably,  and  that  the  whole  thing  will  soon  be  a  matter  of 
diplomacy  between  two  distinct  governments.  But  they  are 
preparing  for  war,  and  they  will  have  it,  too,  to  their  hearts' 
content  President  Buchanan  is  a  muff.  He  sits  and  wrings 
his  hands  like  an  old  woman,  and  declares  he  can  do  noth 
ing.  But  the  new  administration  will  soon  be  in  power, 
and  it  will  voice  the  demand  of  the  North  that  this  non 
sense  be  stopped;  and  if  no  heed  is  given,  it  will  stop  it 
briefly,  decisively." 

"My  son  Warren,"  said  the  major,  "you  told  your 
friend  some  time  since  that  he  knew  nothing  _ about  this 
affair.  You  must  permit  me  to  say  the  same  to  you.  I 
fear  that  both  sides  have  gone  too  far,  much  too  far;  and 
what  the  end  will  be,  and  when  it  will  come,  God  only 
knows." 

Before  many  weeks  passed  Graham  shared  the  same 
view. 

Events  crowded  upon  each  other;  pages  of  history  were 

made  daily,  and  often  hourly.    In  every  home,  as  well  as  in 

the  cottages  wherein  dwelt  the  people  of  my  story,  the  daily 

journals  were  snatched  and  read  at  the  earliest  possible  mo- 

G— ROE— XIII 


146  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

ment.  Many  were  stern  and  exultant  like  fiilland;  imre 
were  dazed  and  perplexed,  feeling  that  something  ought  to 
be  done  to  stem  the  torrent,  and  at  the  same  time  were  as 
tonished  and  troubled  to  find  that  perhaps  a  "next-door 
neighbor  sympathized  with  the  rebellion  and  predicted  its 
entire  success.  The  social  atmosphere  was  thick  with  doubt, 
heavy  with  despondency,  and  often  lurid  with  anger. 

Graham  became  a  curious  study  to  both  Grace  and  his 
aunt;  and  sometimes  his  friend  and  the  major  were  inclined 
to  get  out  of  patience  with  him.  He  grew  reticent  on  the 
subject  concerning  which  all  were  talking,  but  he  read  with 
avidity,  not  only  the  history  of  the  day,  but  of  the  past  as  it 
related  to  the  questions  at  issue. 

One  of  his  earliest  acts  had  been  the  purchase  of  a  horse 
noted  in  town  as  being  so  powerful,  spirited,  and  even  vi 
cious,  that  few  dared  to  drive  or  ride  him.  He  had  finally 
brought  his  ill-repute  to  a  climax  by  running  away,  wreck 
ing  the  carriage,  and  breaking  his  owner's  ribs.  He  had 
since  stood  fuming  in  idleness;  and  when  Graham  wished 
him  brought  to  the  unused  stable  behind  his  aunt's  cottage, 
no  one  would  risk  the  danger.  Then  the  young  man  went 
after  the  horse  himself. 

"I've  only  one  man  in  my  employ  who  dares  clean  and 
take  care  of  him,"  remarked  the  proprietor  of  the  livery 
stable«where  he  was  kept;  "and  he  declares  that  he  won't 
risk  his  life  much  longer  unless  the  brute  is  used  and  tamed 
down  somewhat.  There's  your  property  and  I'd  like  to 
have  it  removed  as  soon  as  possible." 

"I'll  remove  it  at  once,"  said  Graham,  quietly;  and 
paying  no  heed  to  the  crowd  that  began  to  gather  when  it 
was  bruited  that  "Firebrand" — for  such  was  the  horse's 
name — was  to  be  brought  out,  he  took  a  bridle  and  went 
into  the  stall,  first  speaking  gently,  then  stroking  the  ani 
mal  with  an  assured  touch.  The  horse  permitted  himself 
to  be  bridled  and  led  out;  but  there  was  an  evil  fire  in  his 
eye,  and  he  gave  more  than  one  ominous  snort  of  defiance. 
The  proprietor,  smitten  by  a  sudden  compunction,  rushed 


PREPARATION  147 

forward  and  cried,  "Look  here,  sir;   you  are  taking  your 
life  in  your  hand." 

"I  say,  Graham,"  cried  Holland's  voice,  "what  scrape 
are  you  in,  that  you  have  drawn  such  a  crowd?" 

"No  scrape  at  all,"  said  Graham,  looking  around  and 
recognizing  his  friend  and  Grace  mounted  and  passing 
homeward  from  their  ride.  "I've  had  the  presumption  to 
think  that  you  would  permit  me  to  join  you  occasionally, 
and  so  have  bought  a  good  horse.  Isn't  he  a  beauty  ?" 

"What,  Firebrand?" 

"That's  his  present  name.     I  shall  rechristen  him." 

"Oh,  come,  Graham!  if  you  don't  value  your  neck,  oth 
ers  do.  You've  been  imposed  upon." 

"I've  warned  him — "  began  the  keeper  of  the  livery 
stable;  but  here  the  horse  reared  and  tried  to  break  from 
Graham's  grasp. 

"Clear  the  way,"  the  young  man  cried;  and  as  the  brute 
came  down  he  seized  his  mane  and  vaulted  upon  his  bare 
back.  The  action  was  so  sudden  and  evidently  so  unex 
pected  that  the  horse  stood  still  and  quivered  for  a  moment, 
then  gave  a  few  prodigious  bounds;  but  the  rider  kept  his 
seat  so  perfectly  that  he  seemed  a  part  of  the  horse.  The 
beast  next  began  to  rear,  and  at  one  time  it  seemed  as  if  he 
would  fall  over  backward,  and  his  master  sprang  lightly  to 
the  ground.  But  the  horse  was  scarcely  on  all  fours  before 
Graham  was  on  his  back  again.  The  brute  had  the  bit  in  his 
teeth,  and  paid  no  attention  to  it.  Graham  now  drew  a  flex 
ible  rawhide  from  his  pocket,  and  gave  his  steed  a  severe 
cut  across  the  flanks.  The  result  was  another  bound  into 
the  air,  such  as  experts  present  declared  was  never  seen  be 
fore;  and  then  the  enraged  animal  sped  away  at  a  tremen 
dous  pace  There  was  a  shout  of  applause;  and  Hilland 
and  Grace  galloped  after,  but  soon  lost  sight  of  Graham. 
Two  hours  later  he  trotted  quietly  up  to  their  door,  his 
coal-black  horse  white  with  foam,  quivering  in  every 
muscle,  but  perfectly  subdued. 

"I  merely  wished  to  assure  you  that  my  neck  was  safe, 


148  HIS  SOMBRE   RIVALS 

and  that  I  have  a  horse  fit  to  go  to  the  war  that  you  pre 
dict  so  confidently,"  he  said  to  Hilland,  who  with  Grace 
rushed  out  on  the  piazza,. 

"I  say,  Graham,  where  did  you  learn  to  ride?"  asked 
his  friend. 

"Oh,  the  horses  were  nobler  animals  than  the  men  in 
some  of  the  lands  where  I  have  been,  and  I  studied  them. 
This  creature  will  be  a  faithful  friend  in  a  short  time.  You 
have  no  idea  how  much  intelligence  such  a  horse  as  this  has 
if  he  is  treated  intelligently.  I  don't  believe  he  has  ever 
known  genuine  kindness.  I'll  guarantee  that  I  can  fire  a 
pistol  between  his  ears  within  two  weeks,  and  that  he  won't 
flinch.  Good-by.  I  shall  be  my  own  hostler  for  a  short 
time,  and  must  work  an  hour  over  him  after  the  run  he's 
had." 

"Well,"  exclaimed  Hilland,  as  he  passed  into  the  house 
with  his  wife,  "I  admit  that  Graham  has  changed.  He  was 
always  great  on  tramps,  but  I  never  knew  him  to  care  for  a 
horse  before." 

Grace  felt  that  he  had  changed  ever  since  he  had  leaned 
for  support  against  the  apple-tree  by  which  he  was  now  pass 
ing  down  the  frozen  walk,  but  she  only  said,  "I  never  saw 
such  superb  horsemanship." 

She  had  not  thought  Graham  exactly  fine-looking  in  for 
mer  days;  but  in  his  absence  his  slight  figure  had  filled  out, 
and  his  every  movement  was  instinct  with  reserved  force. 
The  experiences  through  which  he  had  passed  removed 
him,  as  she  was  conscious,  beyond  the  sphere  of  ordinary 
men.  Even  his  marked  reticence  about  himself  and  his 
views  was  stimulating  to  the  imagination.  Whether  he  had 
conquered  his  old  regard  for  her  she  could  not  tell.  He  cer 
tainly  no  longer  avoided  her,  and  he  treated  her  with  the 
frank  courtesy  he  would  naturally  extend  to  his  friend's 
wife.  But  he  spent  far  more  time  with  his  aunt  than  with 
them;  and  it  became  daily  more  and  more  evident  that  he 
accepted  the  major's  view,  and  was  preparing  for  what  he 
believed  would  be  a  long  and  doubtful  conflict.  Since  it 


PREPARATION  149 

must  come,  he  welcomed  the  inevitable,  for  in  his  condition 
of  mind  it  was  essential  that  he  should  be  intensely  occu 
pied.  Although  his  aunt  had  to  admit  that  he  was  a  little 
peculiar,  his  manner  was  simple  and  quiet;  and  when  he 
joined  his  friends  on  their  drives  or  at  their  fireside,  he  was 
usually  as  genial  as  they  could  desire,  and  his  tenderness 
for  his  aunt  daily  increased  the  respect  which  he  had  al 
ready  won  from  Grace. 


150  HIS   SOMBRE  RIVALS 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE   CALL  TO   ARMS 

ON  the  4th  of  March,  1861,  was  inaugurated  as  Presi 
dent  the  best  friend  the  South  ever  had.  He  would 
never  have  deceived  or  misled  her.  In  all  the  bloody 
struggle  that  followed,  although  hated,  scoffed  at,  and  ma 
ligned  as  the  vilest  monster  of  earth,  he  never  by  word  or 
act  manifested  a  vindictive  spirit  toward  her.  Firm  and 
sagacious,  Lincoln  would  have  protected  the  South  in  her 
constitutional  rights,  though  every  man  at  the  North  had 
become  an  abolitionist.  Slavery,  however,  had  long  been 
doomed,  like  other  relics  of  barbarism,  by  the  spirit  of  the 
age;  and  his  wisdom  and  that  of  men  like  him,  with  the 
logic  of  events  and  the  irresistible  force  of  the  world's 
opinion,  would  have  found  some  peaceful,  gradual  remedy 
for  an  evil  which  wrought  even  more  injury  to  the  master 
than  to  the  bondman.  In  his  inaugural  address  he  repeated 
that  he  had  "no  purpose,  directly  or  indirectly,  to  interfere 
with  slavery  in  the  States  where  it  existed. ' ' 

An  unanswerable  argument  against  disunion,  and  an 
earnest  appeal  to  reason  and  lawful  remedy,  he  followed 
by  a  most  impressive  declaration  of  peace  and  good- will: 
uln  your  hands,  my  dissatisfied  fellow-countrymen,  and 
not  mine,  is  the  momentous  issue  of  civil  war.  The  gov 
ernment  will  not  assail  you.  You  can  have  no  conflict 
without  being  yourselves  the  aggressors.  You  have  no 
oath  registered  in  heaven  to  destroy  the  government;  while 
I  shall  have  the  most  solemn  one  to  preserve,  protect,  and 
defend  it." 


THE   CALL    TO   ARMS  151 

These  were  noble  words,  and  to  all  minds  not  confused 
by  the  turmoil,  passion,  and  prejudices  of  the  hour,  they 
presented  the  issue  squarely.  If  the  leaders  of  the  South 
desired  peaceful  negotiation,  the  way  was  opened,  the  op 
portunity  offered;  if  they  were  resolved  on  the  destruction 
of  the  Union,  Lincoln's  oath  meant  countless  men  and 
countless  treasure  to  defend  it. 

Men  almost  held  their  breath  in  suspense.  The  air  be 
came  thick  with  rumors  of  compromise  and  peace.  Even 
late  in  March,  Mr.  Seward,  the  President's  chief  adviser, 
"believed  and  argued  that  the  revolution  throughout  the 
South  had  spent  its  force  and  was  on  the  wane;  and  that 
the  evacuation  of  Sumter  and  the  manifestation  of  kindness 
and  confidence  to  the  Rebel  and  Border  States  would  un 
dermine  the  conspiracy,  strengthen  the  Union  sentiment 
and  Union  majorities,  and  restore  allegiance  and  healthy 
political  action  without  resort  to  civil  war." 

To  Graham,  who,  in  common  with  millions  in  their 
homes,  was  studying  the  problem,  this  course  seemed  so 
rational  and  so  advantageous  to  all  concerned,  that  he  ac 
cepted  it  as  the  outline  of  the  future.  The  old  major  shook 
his  head  and  growled,  "You  don't  know  the  South;  it's  too 
late;  their  blood  is  up." 

Hilland  added  exultantly,  "Neither  do  you  know  the 
North,  Graham.  There  will  come  a  tidal  wave  soon  that 
will  carry  Mr.  Seward  and  the  hesitating  President  to  the 
boundaries  of  Mexico." 

The  President  was  not  hesitating,  in  the  weak  sense  of 
the  word.  Equally  removed  from  Mr.  Buchanan's  timidity 
and  Mr.  Seward' s  optimistic  confidence,  he  was  feeling  his 
way,  gathering  the  reins  into  his  hands,  and  seeking  to 
comprehend  an  issue  then  too  obscure  and  vast  for  mortal 
mind  to  grasp.  What  is  plain  to-day  was  not  plain  then. 

It  speedily  became  evident,  however,  that  all  talk  of 
compromise  on  the  part  of  the  Southern  leaders  was  de 
ceptive — that  they  were  relentlessly  pursuing  the  course 
marked  out  from  the  first,  hoping,  undoubtedly,  that  the 


152  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

government  would  be  paralyzed  by  their  allies  at  the 
North,  and  that  their  purposes  would  be  effected  by  ne 
gotiation  and  foreign  intervention. 

And  so  the  skies  grew  darker  and  the  political  and  social 
atmosphere  so  thick  with  doubt  and  discordant  counsels  that 
the  horizon  narrowed  about  even  those  on  the  mountain- top 
of  power.  All  breathed  heavily  and  felt  the  oppression  that 
precedes  some  convulsion  of  nature. 

At  length,  on  the  morning  of  the  12th  of  April,  as  the 
darkness  which  foreruns  the  dawn  was  lifting  from  Charles 
ton  Harbor,  and  Sumter  lay  like  a  shadow  on  the  waves,  a 
gun  was  fired  whose  echoes  repeated  themselves  around  the 
world.  They  were  heard  in  every  home  North  and  South, 
and  their  meaning  was  unmistakable.  The  flash  of  that 
mortar  gun  and  of  the  others  that  followed  was  as  the 
lightning  burning  its  way  across  the  vault  of  heaven,  re 
vealing  everything  with  intense  vividness,  and  rending  and 
consuming  all  noxious  vapors.  The  clouds  rolled  speedily 
away,  and  from  the  North  came  the  sound  of  "a  rushing, 
mighty  wind." 

The  crisis  and  the  leader  came  together.  The  news 
reached  Washington  on  Saturday.  On  Sunday  Mr.  Lin 
coln  drafted  his  memorable  call  to  arms,  and  on  Monday  it 
was  telegraphed  throughout  the  land.  The  response  to  that 
call  forms  one  of  the  sublimest  chapters  of  history. 

In  the  St.  John  cottage,  as  in  nearly  all  other  homes, 
differences  of  opinion  on  minor  questions  melted  into 
nothingness. 

Graham  read  the  electric  words  aloud,  and  his  friend's 
only  excited  comment  was; 

"Graham,  you  will  go." 

"Not  yet,"  was  the  quiet  response*  "and  I  sincerely 
hope  you  will  not" 

"How  can  a  man  do  otherwise?" 

"Because  he  is  a  man,  and  not  an  infuriated  animal. 
I've  been  very  chary  in  giving  my  opinion  on  this  subject, 
as  you  know.  You  also  know  that  I  have  read  and  thought 


THE   CALL    TO    ARMS  153 

about  it  almost  constantly  since  my  return.  I  share  fully  in 
Major  St.  John's  views  that  this  affair  is  not  to  be  settled 
by  a  mad  rush  southward  of  undisciplined  Northern  men. 
I  have  traced  the  history  of  Southern  regiments  and  officers 
in  the  Revolution  and  in  our  later  wars,  and  I  assure  you 
that  we  are  on  the  eve  of  a  gigantic  conflict.  In  that  degree 
that  we  believe  the  government  right,  we,  as  rational  men, 
should  seek  to  render  it  effective  service.  The  government 
does  not  need  a  mob:  it  needs  soldiers,  and  such  are  neither 
you  nor  I.  I  have  informed  myself  somewhat  on  the  militia 
system  of  the  country,  and  there  are  plenty  of  organized 
regiments  of  somewhat  disciplined  men  who  can  go  at  an 
hour's  notice.  If  you  went  now,  you — a  millionaire — would 
not  count  for  as  much  as  an  Irishman  who  had  spent  a  few 
months  in  a  drill-room.  The  time  may  come  when  you  can 
equip  a  regiment  if  you  choose.  Moreover,  you  have  a  con 
trolling  voice  in  large  business  interests;  and  this  struggle 
is  doomed  from  the  start  if  not  sustained  financially." 

14 Mr.  Graham  is  right,"  said  Grace,  emphatically.  "Even 
my  woman's  reason  makes  so  much  clear  to  me." 

'"Your  woman's  reason  would  serve  most  men  better 
than  their  own,"  was  his  smiling  reply.  Then,  as  he  looked 
into  her  lovely  face,  pale  at  the  bare  thought  that  her  hus 
band  was  going  into  danger,  he  placed  his  hand  on  Hilland's 
shoulder  and  continued,  "Warren,  there  are  other  sacred 
claims  besides  those  of  patriotism.  The  cause  should  grow 
desperate  indeed  before  you  leave  that  wife." 

"Mr.  Graham,"  Grace  began,  with  an  indignant  flush 
mantling  the  face  that  had  been  so  pale,  "I  am  a  soldier's 
daughter;  and  if  Warren  believed  it  to  be  his  duty — " 
Then  she  faltered,  and  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears,  as  she 
moaned,  "0  God  I  it's — it's  true.  The  bullet  that  struck 
him  would  inflict  a  deadlier  wound  on  me;"  and  she  hid 
her  face  on  Hilland's  breast  and  sobbed  piteously. 

"It  is  also  true,"  said  Graham,  in  tones  that  were  as 
grave  and  solemn  as  they  were  gentle,  "that  your  father's 
spirit — nay,  your  own — would  control  you.  Under  its  in- 


154  BIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

fluence  you  might  not  only  permit  but  urge  your  husband's 
departure,  though  your  heart  broke  a  thousand  times. 
Therefore,  Hilland,  I  appeal  to  your  manhood.  You 
would  be  unworthy  of  yourself  and  of  this  true  woman 
were  you  guided  by  passion  or  excitement.  As  a  loyal 
man  you  are  bound  to  render  your  country  your  best  ser 
vice.  To  rush  to  the  fray  now  would  be  the  poorest  aid 
you  could  give." 

"Graham  talks  sense,"  said  the  major,  speaking  with  the 
authority  of  a  veteran.  "If  I  had  to  meet  the  enemy  at 
once,  I'd  rather  have  a  regiment  of  canaille,  and  cowards 
at  that,  who  could  obey  orders  like  a  machine,  than  one 
of  hot-headed  millionaires  who  might  not  understand  the 
command  'Halt!'  Mr.  Graham  is  right  again  when  he  says 
that  Grace  will  not  prevent  a  man  from  doing  his  duty  any 
more  than  her  mother  did. ' ' 

"What do  you  propose  to  do?"  asked  Hilland,  breathing 
heavily.  It  was  evident  that  a  tremendous  struggle  was 
going  on  in  his  breast,  for  it  had  been  his  daily  and  nightly 
dream  to  join  the  grand  onset  that  should  sweep  slavery  and 
rebellion  out  of  existence. 

"Simply  what  I  advise — watch,  wait,  and  act  when  I  can 
be  of  the  most  service. ' ' 

"I  yield,"  said  flilland,  slowly,  "for  I  suppose  you  are 
right  You  all  know  well,  and  you  best  of  all,  sweetheart' ' 
— taking  his  wife's  face  in  his  hands  and  looking  down  into 
her  tearful  eyes — "that  here  is  the  treasure  of  my  life.  But 
you  also  know  that  in  all  the  past  there  have  come  times 
when  a  man  must  give  up  everything  at  the  need  of  his 
country. ' ' 

"And  when  that  time  comes,"  sobbed  his  wife,  "I — I  — 
will  not — "  But  she  could  not  finish  the  sentence. 

Graham  stole  away,  awed,  and  yet  with  a  peace  in  his 
heart  that  he  had  not  known  for  years.  He  had  saved  his 
friend  from  the  first  wild  mele'e  of  the  war — the  war  that 
promised  rest  and  nothingness  to  him,  even  while  he  kept 
his  promise  to  "live  and  do  his  best." 


THE   BLOOD-RED   SKY  156 


CHAPTEK  XIX 

THE     BLOOD-BED    SKY 

DAYS  and  weeks  of  intense  excitement  followed  the 
terrific  Union  reverses  which  at  one  time  threat 
ened  the  loss  of  the  national  capital;  and  the 
North  began  to  put  forth  the  power  of  which  it  was  only 
half  conscious,  like  a  giant  taken  unawares;  for  to  all,  ex- 
cept  men  of  Hilland's  hopeful  confidence,  it  soon  became 
evident  that  the  opponent  was  a  giant  also.  It  is  not  my 
purpose  to  dwell  upon  this,  however,  except  as  it  influenced 
the  actors  of  my  story. 

Hilland,  having  given  up  his  plans,  was  contentedly 
carrying  out  the  line  of  action  suggested  by  his  friend. 
By  all  the  means  within  his  power  he  was  furthering  the 
Union  cause,  and  learned  from  experience  how  much  more 
he  could  accomplish  as  a  business  man  than  by  shouldering 
a  musket,  or  misleading  a  regiment  in  his  ignorance.  He 
made  frequent  trips  to  New  York,  and  occasionally  went 
to  Washington.  Graham  often  accompanied  him,  and  also 
came  and  went  on  affairs  of  his  own.  Ostensibly  he  was 
acting  as  correspondent  for  the  journal  to  which  he  had 
written  when  abroad.  In  reality,  he  was  studying  the  great 
drama  with  an  interest  that  was  not  wholly  patriotic  or  sci 
entific.  He  had  found  an  antidote.  The  war,  dreaded  so 
unspeakably  by  many,  was  a  boon  to  him;  and  the  fierce 
excitement  of  the  hour  a  counter-irritant  to  the  pain  at  heart 
which  he  believed  had  become  his  life-long  heritage. 

He  had  feared  the  sorrowful  reproaches  of  his  aunt,  as 


156  HIS   SOMBRE  RIVALS 

he  gave  himself  almost  wholly  up  to  its  influences,  and  be 
came  an  actor  in  the  great  struggle.  In  this  he  was  agree 
ably  mistaken,  for  the  spirited  old  lady,  while  averse  to 
politics  as  such,  had  become  scarcely  less  belligerent  than 
the  major  since  the  fall  of  Sumter.  She  cheerfully  let  him 
come  and  go  at  his  will;  and  in  his  loving  gratitude  it  must 
be  admitted  that  his  letters  to  her  were  more  frequent  and 
interesting  than  those  to  the  journal  whose  badge  was  his 
passport  to  all  parts  of  our  lines.  He  spent  every  hour  he 
could  with  her,  also;  and  she  saw  with  pleasure  that  his 
activity  did  him  good.  Grace  thought  he  found  few  oppor 
tunities  to  pass  an  evening  with  them.  She  was  exceed 
ingly  grateful — first,  that  hs  had  interpreted  her  so  nobly, 
but  chiefly  because  it  was  ais  influence  and  reasoning  that 
had  led  her  husband  into  his  present  large,  useful,  happy 
action;  and  she  could  not  help  showing  it. 

Graham's  position  of  correspondent  gave  him  far  better 
opportunities  for  observation  than  he  could  have  had  in  any 
arm  of  the  service.  Of  late  he  was  following  the  command 
of  General  Patterson,  believing  from  his  sanguinary  vapor 
ing  that  in  his  army  would  be  seen  the  first  real  work  of  the 
war.1  He  soon  became  convinced,  however,  that  the  vet 
eran  of  the  Mexican  War,  like  the  renowned  King  of  France, 
would  march  his  "twenty  thousand  men"  up  the  hill  only  to 
march  them  down  again.  Hearing  that  McDowell  proposed 
to  move  against  the  enemy  at  Manassas,  he  hastily  repaired 
to  Washington,  hoping  to  find  a  general  that  dared  to  come 
within  cannon-range  of  the  foe. 

A  sultry  day  late  in  the  month  of  July  was  drawing  to 
a  close.  Hilland  and  his  wife,  with  Mrs.  May  burn,  were 
seated  under  the  apple-tree,  at  which  point  the  walk  inter 
sected  with  the  main  one  leading  to  the  street.  The  young 
man,  with  a  heavy  frown,  was  reading  from  an  "extra"  a 
lurid  outline  of  General  McDowell's  overwhelming  defeat 
and  the  mad  panic  that  ensued.  Grace  was  listening  with 

1  Patterson  wrote  to  the  Secretary  of  War:  "You  have  the  means;  place 
them  at  my  disposal,  and  shoot  me  If  I  do  not  use  them  to  advantage." 


THE   BLOOD-RED   SKY  157 

deep  solicitude,  her  work  lying  idle  in  her  lap.  It  had  been 
a  long,  hard  day  for  her.  Of  late  her  father  had  been  deeply 
excited,  and  now  was  sleeping  from  sheer  reaction.  Mrs. 
Mayburn,  looking  as  grim  as  fate,  sat  bolt  upright  and 
knitted  furiously.  One  felt  instinctively  that  in  no  emer 
gency  of  life  could  she  give  way  to  a  panic. 

"Well,"  cried  Hilland,  springing  to  his  feet  and  dashing 
the  paper  to  the  ground  with  something  like  an  oath,  *'one 
battle  has  been  fought  in  America  at  which  I  thank  the  im 
mortal  gods  I  was  not  present  Why  did  not  McDowell 
drive  a  flock  of  sheep  against  the  enemy,  and  furnish  his 
division  commanders  with  shepherds'  crooks?  Oh,  the 
burning,  indelible  disgrace  of  it  all!  And  yet — and  the 
possibility  of  it  makes  me  feel  that  I  would  destroy  myself 
had  it  happened — I  might  have  run  like  the  blackest  sheep 
of  them  all.  I  once  read  up  a  little  on  the  subject  of  panics; 
and  there's  a  mysterious,  awful  contagion  about  them  im 
possible  to  comprehend.  These  men  were  Americans;  they 
had  been  fighting  bravely;  what  the  devil  got  into  them 
that  they  had  to  destroy  themselves  and  everything  in  an 
insane  rush  for  life?" 

"Oh,  Warren,  see  the  sky!"  cried  his  wife,  the  deep  solici 
tude  of  her  expression  giving  place  to  a  look  of  awe. 

They  all  turned  to  the  west,  and  saw  a  sunset  that  from 
the  excitable  condition  of  their  minds  seemed  to  reflect  the 
scenes  recently  enacted,  and  to  portend  those  in  prospect 
now  for  years  to  come.  Lines  of  light  and  broken  columns 
of  cloud  had  ranged  themselves  across  the  western  arch  of 
the  sky,  and  almost  from  the  horizon  to  the  zenith  they 
were  blood-red.  So  deep,  uniform,  and  ensanguined  was 
the  crimson,  that  the  sense  of  beauty  was  subordinated  to 
the  thought  of  the  national  tragedy  reflected  in  the  heavens. 
Hilland' s  face  grew  stern  as  he  looked,  and  Grace  hid  hers 
on  his  breast. 

After  a  moment,  he  said,  lightly,  "What  superstitious 
fools  we  are  I  It's  all  an  accidental  effect  of  light  and 
cloud." 


158  HIS   SOMBRE    RIVALS 

A  cry  from  Mrs.  Mayburn  caused  them  to  turn  hastily, 
and  they  saw  her  rushing  down  the  path  to  the  street  en 
trance.  Two  men  were  helping  some  one  from  a  carriage. 
As  their  obscuring  forms  stood  aside,  Graham  was  seen 
balancing  himself  on  crutches. 

Hilland  placed  his  wife  hastily  but  tenderly  on  the  seat, 
and  was  at  the  gateway  in  almost  a  single  bound. 

"You  had  better  let  us  carry  you,"  Grace  heard  one  of 
the  men  say  in  gruff  kindness. 

"Nonsense!"  was  the  hearty  reply.  "I  have  not  re 
treated  thus  far  so  masterfully  only  to  give  my  aunt  the 
hysterics  at  last." 

"Alford,"  said  his  aunt,  sternly,  "if  it's  wise  for  you  to 
be  carried,  be  carried.  Any  man  here  is  as  liable  to  hys 
terics  as  I  am. ' ' 

"Graham,  what  does  this  mean?"  cried  his  friend,  in 
deep  excitement  "You  look  as  if  half  cut  to  pieces." 

"It's  chiefly  my  clothes;  I  am  a  fitter  subject  for  a  tailor 
than  for  a  surgeon.  Come,  good  people,  there  is  no  occa 
sion  for  melodrama.  With  aunty's  care  I  shall  soon  be  as 
sound  as  ever.  Very  well,  carry  me,  then.  Perhaps  I 
ought  not  to  use  my  arm  yet;"  for  Hilland,  taking  in  his 
friend's  disabled  condition  more  fully,  was  about  to  lift  him 
in  his  arms  without  permission  or  apology.  It  ended  in  his 
making  what  is  termed  a  "chair"  with  one  of  the  men,  and 
Graham  was  borne  speedily  up  the  path. 

Grace  stood  at  the  intersection  with  hands  clasped  in  the 
deepest  anxiety;  but  Graham  smiled  reassuringly,  as  he 
said,  "Isn't  this  an  heroic  style  of  returning  from  the  wars? 
Not  quite  like  Walter  Scott's  knights;  but  we've  fallen  on 
prosaic  times.  Don't  look  so  worried.  I  assure  you  I'm 
not  seriously  hurt ' ' 

"Mrs.  Mayburn,"  said  Hilland,  excitedly,  "let  us  take 
him  to  our  cottage.  We  can  all  take  better  care  of  him 
there." 

"Oh,  do!  please  do!"  echoed  Grace.  "You  are  alone; 
and  Warren  and  I  could  do  so  much—" 


THE   BLOOD-RED   SKY  159 

"No,"  said  the  old  lady  quietly  and  decisively;  for  the 
moment  the  proposition  was  broached  Graham's  eyes  had 
sought  hers  in  imperative  warning.  "You  both  can  help 
me  as  far  as  it  is  needful. " 

Grace  detected  the  glance  and  noted  the  result,  but  Hil- 
land  began  impetuously:  "Oh,  come,  dear  Mrs.  Mayburn, 
I  insist  upon  it.  Graham  is  making  light  of  it;  but  I'm 
sure  he'll  need  more  care  than  you  realize — " 

"flilland,  I  know  the  friendship  that  prompts  your 
wish,"  interrupted  Graham,  "but  my  aunt  is  right.  I  shall 
do  better  in  my  own  room.  I  need  rest  more  than  anything 
else.  You  and  your  wife  can  do  all  you  wish  for  me.  In 
deed,  I  shall  visit  you  to-morrow  and  fight  the  battle  over 
again  with  the  major.  Please  take  me  to  my  room  at  once, ' ' 
he  added  in  a  low  tone.  "I'm  awfully  tired." 

"Come,  Mr.  Hilland,"  said  Mrs.  Mayburn,  in  a  tone 
almost  authoritative;  and  she  led  the  way  decisively. 

Hilland  yielded,  and  in  a  few  moments  Graham  was  in 
his  own  room,  and  after  taking  a  little  stimulant,  explained. 

"My  horse  was  shot  and  fell  on  me.  I  am  more  bruised, 
scratched  and  used  up,  than  hurt;"  and  so  it  proved,  though 
his  escape  had  evidently  been  almost  miraculous.  One  leg 
and  foot  had  been  badly  crushed.  There  were  two  flesh 
wounds  in  his  arm;  and  several  bullets  had  cut  his  cloth 
ing,  in  some  places  drawing  blood.  All  over  his  clothes, 
from  head  to  foot,  were  traces  of  Virginia  soil;  and  he  had 
the  general  appearance  of  a  man  who  had  passed  through 
a  desperate  mele'e. 

"I  tried  to  repair  damages  in  Washington,"  he  said, 
"but  the  confusion  was  so  dire  I  had  to  choose  between  a 
hospital  and  home;  and  as  I  had  some  symptoms  of  fever 
last  night,  I  determined  to  push  on  till  under  the  wing  of 
my  good  old  aunty  and  your  fraternal  care.  Indeed,  I  think 
I  was  half  delirious  when  I  took  the  train  last  evening;  but 
it  was  only  from  fatigue,  lack  of  sleep,  and  perhaps  loss  of 
blood.  Now,  please  leave  me  to  aunty's  care  to-night,  and 
I  will  tell  you  all  about  it  to-morrow." 


160  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

Hilland  was  accordingly  constrained  to  yield  to  his 
friend's  wishes.  He  brought  the  best  surgeon  in  town, 
however,  and  gave  directions  that,  after  he  had  dressed 
Graham's  wounds,  he  should  spend  the  night  in  Mrs.  May- 
burn's  parlor,  and  report  to  him  if  there  was  any  change  for 
the  worse.  Fortunately,  there  was  no  occasion  for  his  solici 
tude.  Graham  slept  with  scarcely  a  break  till  late  the  next 
morning;  and  his  pulse  became  so  quiet  that  when  he  waked 
with  a  good  appetite  the  physician  pronounced  all  danger 
passed. 

In  the  evening  he  was  bent  on  visiting  the  major.  He 
knew  they  were  all  eager  for  his  story,  and,  calculating 
upon  the  veteran's  influence  in  restraining  Hilland  from 
hasty  action,  he  resolved  that  his  old  and  invalid  friend 
should  hear  it  with  the  first.  From  the  character  of  Hilland 
he  knew  the  danger  to  be  apprehended  was  that  he  would 
throw  himself  into  the  struggle  in  some  way  that  would 
paralyze,  or  at  the  least  curtail,  his  efficiency.  Both  his 
aunt  and  the  physician,  who  underrated  the  recuperative 
power  of  Graham's  fine  physical  condition,  urged  quiet 
until  the  following  day;  but  he  assured  them  he  would 
suffer  more  from  restlessness  than  from  a  moderate  degree 
of  effort.  He  also  explained  to  his  aunt  that  he  wished  to 
talk  with  Hilland,  and,  if  possible,  in  the  presence  of  his 
wife  and  the  major. 

"Then  they  must  come  here,"  said  the  old  lady,  reso 
lutely. 

With  this  compromise  he  had  to  be  content;  and  Hil 
land,  who  had  been  coming  and  going,  readily  agreed  to 
fetch  the  major. 


TWO   BATTLES  161 


CHAPTER  XX 

TWO   BATTLES 

IN  less  than  an  hour  Graham  was  in  the  parlor,  looking, 
it  is  true,  somewhat  battered,  but  cheerful  and  reso 
lute.  His  friends  found  him  installed  in  a  great  arm 
chair,  with  his  bruised  foot  on  a  cushion,  his  arm  in*a  sling, 
and  a  few  pieces  of  court-plaster  distributed  rather  promis 
cuously  over  his  face  and  head.  He  greeted  Hilland  and 
his  wife  so  heartily,  and  assured  the  major  so  genially  that 
he  should  now  divide  with  him  his  honors  as  a  veteran,  that 
they  were  reassured,  and  the  rather  tragic  mood  in  which 
they  had  started  on  the  visit  was  dispelled. 

"I  must  admit,  though,"  he  added  to  his  old  friend,  who 
was  also  made  comfortable  in  his  chair,  which  Hilland  had 
brought  over,  "that  in  my  fall  on  the  field  of  glory  I  made 
a  sorry  figure.  I  was  held  down  by  my  horse  and  trampled 
on  as  if  I  had  been  a  part  of  the  'sacred  soil.'  " 

"  'Field  of  glory,'  indeed!"  exclaimed  Hilland,  con 
temptuously. 

"I  did  not  know  that  you  had  become  a  soldier,"  said 
Grace,  with  surprise. 

"I  was  about  as  much  of  a  soldier  as  the  majority,  from 
the  generals  down,"  was  the  laughing  reply. 

"I  don't  see  how  you  could  have  been  a  worse  one,  if 
you  had  tried,"  was  his  friend's  rejoinder.  "I  may  do  no 
better;  but  I  should  be  less  than  man  if  I  did  not  make 
an  effort  to  wipe  out  the  disgrace  as  soon  as  possible.  No 


162  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

reflection  on  you,  Graham.  Your  wounds  exonerate  you; 
and  I  know  you  did  not  get  them  in  running  away." 

"Yes,  I  did — two  of  them,  at  least — these  in  my  arm. 
As  to  'wiping  out  this  disgrace  as  soon  as  possible,'  I  think 
that  is  a  very  secondary  matter. ' ' 

"Well!  I  don't  understand  it  at  all,"  was  Holland's  al 
most  savage  answer.  "But  I  can  tell  you  from  the  start 
you  need  not  enter  on  your  old  prudent  counsels  that  I 
should  serve  the  government  as  a  stay-at-home  quarter 
master  and  general  supply  agent.  In  my  opinion,  what  the 
government  needs  is  men — men  who  at  least  won't  run 
away.  I  now  have  Grace's  permission  to  go — dear,  brave 
girl ! — and  go  I  shall.  To  stay  at  home  because  I  am  rich 
seems  to  me  the  very  snobbishness  of  wealth ;  and  the  kind 
of  work  I  have  been  doing  graybeards  can  do  just  as  well, 
and  better." 

Graham  turned  a  grave  look  of  inquiry  upon  the  wife. 
She  answered  it  by  saying  with  a  pallid  face:  "I  had  better 
perish  a  thousand  times  than  destroy  Warren's  self-respect. " 

"What  right  have  you  to  preach  caution,"  continued 
Hilland,  "when  you  went  far  enough  to  be  struck  by  half 
a  dozen  bullets?" 

"The  right  of  a  retreat  which  scarcely  slackened  until  I 
was  under  my  aunt's  roof." 

"Come,  Graham,  you  are  tantalizing  us,"  said  Hilland, 
impatiently.  "There,  forgive  me,  old  fellow.  I  fear  you 
are  still  a  little  out  of  your  head,"  he  added,  with  a  slight 
return  of  his  old  good- humor.  "Bo  give  us,  then,  if  you 
can,  some  account  of  your  impetuous  advance  on  Washing 
ton,  instead  of  Richmond." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Graham,"  added  the  major,  "if  you  are  able 
to  give  me  some  reason  for  not  blushing  that  I  am  a  North 
ern  man,  I  shall  be  glad  to  hear  it." 

"Mrs.  Hilland,"  said  Graham,  with  a  smiling  glance  at 
the  young  wife's  troubled  face,  "you  have  the  advantage 
of  us  all.  You  can  proudly  say,  'I'm  a  Southerner.' 
Hilland  and  I  are  nothing  but  'low-down  Yankees.'  Come, 


TWO    BATTLES  163 

good  friends,  I  have  seen  enough  tragedy  of  late;  and  if 
I  have  to  describe  a  little  to-night,  let  us  look  at  matters 
philosophically.  If  I  received  some  hard  knocks  from  your 
kin,  Mrs.  Hilland— " 

"Don't  say  'Mrs.  Hilland,'  "  interrupted  his  friend. 
4 'As  I've  told  you  before,  my  wife  is  'Grace'  to  you." 

"So  be  it  then.  The  hard  knocks  from  your  kin  have 
materially  added  to  my  small  stock  of  sense;  and  1  think 
the  entire  North  will  be  wiser  as  well  as  sadder  before  many 
days  pass.  We  have  been  taught  that  taking  Richmond  and 
marching  through  the  South  will  be  no  holiday  picnic. 
Major  St.  John  has  been  right  from  the  start.  We  must 
encounter  brave,  determined  men;  and,  whatever  may  be 
true  of  the  leaders,  the  people  are  as  sincere  in  their 
patriotism  as  we  are.  They  don't  even  dream  that  they  are 
fighting  in  a  bad  cause.  The  majority  will  stand  lip  for  it 
as  stoutly  and  conscientiously  as  your  husband  for  ours. 
Have  I  not  done  justice  to  your  kin,  Grace?" 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  with  a  faint  smile. 

"Then  forgive  me  if  I  say  that  until  four  o'clock  last 
Sunday  afternoon,  and  in  a  fair,  stand-up  fight  between 
a  Northern  mob  and  a  Southern  mob,  we  whipped  them." 

"But  I  thought  the  men  of  the  North  prided  themselves 
on  their  'staying  power.'  ' 

"They  had  no  'staying  power'  when  they  found  fresh 
regiments  and  batteries  pouring  in  on  their  flank  and  rear. 
I  believe  that  retreat  was  then  the  proper  thing.  The  wild 
panic  that  ensued  resulted  naturally  from  the  condition  of 
the  men  and  officers,  and  especially  from  the  presence 
of  a  lot  of  nondescript  people  that  came  to  see  the  thing 
as  a  spectacle,  a  sort  of  gladiatorial  combat,  upon  which 
they  could  look  at  a  safe  distance.  Two  most  excellent  re 
sults  have  been  attained:  I  don't  believe  we  shall  ever  send 
out  another  mob  of  soldiers;  and  I  am  sure  that  a  mob  of 
men  and  women  from  Washington  will  never  follow  it  to 
see  the  fun." 

"I  wish  Beauregard  had  corralled  them  all — the  mob  of 


164  BIS    SOMBRE    RIVALS 

sight-seers,  I  mean,"  growled  the  major.  "I  must  say,  Mr. 
Graham,  that  the  hard  knocks  you  and  others  have  received 
may  result  in  infinite  good.  I  think  I  take  your  meaning, 
and  that  we  shall  agree  very  nearly  before  you  are  through. 
You  know  that  I  was  ever  bitterly  opposed  to  the  mad  'On 
to  .Richmond'  cry;  and  now  the  cursed  insanity  of  the  thing 
is  clearly  proved." 

"1  agree  with  you  that  it  was  all  wrong — that  it  involved 
risks  that  never  should  have  been  taken  at  this  stage  of  the 
•war;  and  I  am  told  that  General  Scott  and  other  veteran 
officers  disapproved  ot  the  measure.  .Nevertheless,  it  came 
wonderfully  near  being  successful.  We  should  have  gained 
the  battle  if  the  attack  had  been  made  earlier,  or  if  that  old 
muff,  Patterson,  had  done  his  duty." 

"If  you  are  not  too  tired,  give  us  the  whole  movement, 
just  as  you  saw  it,"  said  Hilland,  his  eyes  glowing  with 
excitement. 

"Oh,  I  feel  well  enough  for  another  retreat  to-night. 
My  trouble  was  chiefly  fatigue  and  lack  of  sleep." 

"Because  you  make  light  of  wounds,  we  do  not,"  said 
Grace. 

"flilland  knows  that  the  loss  of  a  little  blood  as  pale  and 
watery  as  mine  would  be  of  small  account,"  was  Graham's 
laughing  response. 

"Well,  to  begin  at  the  beginning,  1  followed  Patterson 
till  convinced  that  his  chief  impulse  was  to  get  away  from 
the  enemy.  1  then  hastened  to  Washington  only  to  learn 
that  McDowell  had  already  had  a  heavy  skirmish  which 
was  not  particularly  to  our  advantage.  This  was  Saturday 
morning,  and  the  impression  was  that  a  general  engagement 
would  be  fought  almost  immediately.  The  fact  that  our 
army  had  met  with  little  opposition  thus  far  created  a  false 
confidence.  I  did  not  care  to  risk  my  pet  horse,  May  burn. 
You  must  know,  aunty,  I've  rechristened  Firebrand  in  your 
honor,"  said  Graham.  "I  tried  to  get  another  mount,  but 
could  not  obtain  one  for  love  or  money.  Every  beast  and 
conveyance  in  the  city  seemed  already  engaged  for  the 


TWO   BATTLES  165 

coming  spectacle.  The  majority  of  these  civilians  did  not 
leave  till  early  on  Sunday  morning,  but  I  had  plenty  of 
company  on  Saturday,  when  with  my  good  horse  I  went  in 
a  rather  leisurely  way  to  Centerville;  for  as  a  correspondent 
I  had  fairly  accurate  information  of  what  was  taking  place, 
and  had  heard  that  there  would  be  no  battle  that  day. 

"I  reached  Centerville  in  the  evening,  and  soon  learned 
that  the  forward  movement  would  take  place  in  the  night. 
Having  put  my  horse  in  thorough  condition  for  the  morrow, 
and  made  an  enormous  supper  through  the  hospitality  of 
some  staff-officers,  I  sought  a  quiet  knoll  on  which  to  sleep 
in  soldier  fashion  under  the  sky,  but  found  the  scene  too 
novel  and  beautiful  for  such  prosaic  oblivion.  I  was  on  the 
highest  ground  I  could  find,  and  beneath  and  on  either  side 
of  me  were  the  camp-fires  of  an  army.  Around  the  nearest 
of  these  could  be  seen  the  forms  of  the  soldiers  in  every 
picturesque  attitude;  some  still  cooking  and  making  their 
rude  suppers,  others  executing  double-shuffles  like  war- 
dances,  more  discussing  earnestly  and  excitedly  the  pros 
pects  of  the  coming  day,  and  not  a  few  looking  pensively 
into  the  flames  as  if  they  saw  pictures  of  the  homes  and 
friends  they  might  never  see  again.  In  the  main,  however, 
animation  and  jollity  prevailed;  and  from  far  and  near 
came  the  sound  of  song,  and  laughter,  and  chaffing.  Far 
down  the  long  slope  toward  the  dark,  wooded  valley  of 
Bull  Bun,  the  light  of  the  fires  shaded  off  into  such  ob 
scurity  as  the  full  moon  permitted,  while  beyond  the  stream 
in  the  far  distance  a  long,  irregular  line  of  luminous  haze 
marked  the  encampments  of  the  enemy. 

"As  the  night  advanced  the  army  grew  quiet;  near  and 
distant  sounds  died  away;  the  canvas  tents  were  like  mounds 
of  snow;  and  by  the  flickering,  dying  flames  were  multitudes 
of  quiet  forms.  At  midnight  few  scenes  could  be  more  calm 
and  beautiful,  so  tenderly  did  the  light  of  the  moon  soften 
and  etherealize  everything.  Even  the  parked  artillery  lost 
much  of  its  grim  aspect,  and  all  nature  seemed  to  breathe 
peace  and  rest. 


166  HIS    SOMBRE    RIVALS 

"It  was  rumored  that  McDowell  wished  to  make  part  of 
the  march  in  the  evening,  and  it  would  have  been  well  if 
he  had  done  so.  A  little  past  midnight  a  general  stir  and 
bustle  ran  through  the  sleeping  army.  Figures  were  seen 
moving  hurriedly,  men  forming  into  lines,  and  there  was  a 
general  commotion.  But  there  was  no  promptness  of  ac 
tion.  The  soldiers  stood  around,  sat  down,  and  at  last  lay 
on  their  arms  and  slept  again.  Mounting  my  horse,  with 
saddle-bags  well  stufled  with  such  rations  as  I  could  obtain, 
1  sought  the  centres  of  information,  it  appeared  that  the 
division  under  General  Tyler  was  slow  in  starting,  and 
blocked  the  march  of  the  Second  and  the  Third  Division. 
As  I  picked  my  way  around,  only  a  horse's  sagacity  kept 
me  from  crushing  some  sleeping  fellow's  leg  or  arm,  for  a 
horse  won't  step  on  a  man  unless  excited. 

"Well,  Tyler's  men  got  out  of  the  way  at  last  in  a  hap 
hazard  fashion,  and  the  Second  and  Third  Divisions  were 
also  steadily  moving,  but  hours  behind  time.  Such  march 
ing  !  It  reminded  one  of  countrymen  streaming  along  a  road 
to  a  Fourth  of  July  celebration. 

"My  main  policy  was  to  keep  near  the  commander-in- 
chief,  for  thus  1  hoped  to  obtain  from  the  staff  some  idea 
of  the  plan  of  battle  and  where  its  brunt  would  fall.  I  con 
fess  that  I  was  disgusted  at  first,  tor  the  general  was  said  to 
be  ill,  and  he  followed  his  columns  in  a  carriage.  It  seemed 
an  odd  way  of  leading  an  army.  But  he  came  out  all  right; 
and  he  did  his  duty  as  a  soldier  and  a  general,  although 
every  one  is  cursing  him  to-day.  He  was  the  first  man  on 
the  real  battlefield,  and  by  no  means  the  first  to  leave  it. 

"Of  course  I  came  and  went  along  the  line  of  march,  or 
of  straggling  rather,  as  1  pleased;  but  I  kept  my  eye  on  the 
general  and  his  staff.  1  soon  observed  that  he  decided  to 
make  his  headquarters  at  the  point  where  a  road  leading 
from  the  great  Warrenton  Turnpike  passed  to  the  north 
through  what  is  known  as  the  'Big  Woods."  Tyler's  com 
mand  continued  westward  down  the  turnpike  to  what  is 
known  as  the  Stone  Bridge,  a  single  substantial  arch  at 


TWO    BATTLES  167 

which  the  enemy  were  said  to  be  in  force.  It  now  became 
clear  that  the  first  fighting  would  be  there,  and  that  it  was 
McDowell's  plan  to  send  his  main  force  under  Hunter  and 
Heintzelman  further  north  through  the  woods  to  cross  at 
some  point  above.  I  therefore  followed  Tyler's  column,  as 
that  must  soon  become  engaged. 

"The  movements  had  all  been  so  mortally  slow  that  any 
chance  for  surprise  was  lost.  As  we  approached  the  bridge 
it  was  as  lovely  a  summer  morning  as  you  would  wish  to 
see.  1  had  ridden  ahead  with  the  scouts.  Thrushes,  rob 
ins,  and  other  birds  were  singing  in  the  trees.  Startled 
rabbits,  and  a  mother- bird  with  a  brood  of  quails,  scurried 
across  the  road,  and  all  seemed  as  still  and  peaceful  as  any 
Sunday  that  had  ever  dawned  on  the  scene.  It  was  hard  to 
persuade  one's  self  that  in  front  and  rear  were  the  forces  of 
deadly  war. 

"We  soon  reached  an  eminence  from  which  we  saw  what 
dispelled  at  once  the  illusion  of  sylvan  solitude.  The  sun 
had  been  shining  an  hour  or  two,  and  the  bridge  before  us 
and  the  road  beyond  were  defended  by  abatis  and  other  ob 
structions.  On  the  further  bank  a  line  of  infantry  was  in 
full  view  with  batteries  in  position  prepared  to  receive  us. 
1  confess  it  sent  a  thrill  through  every  nerve  when  I  first 
saw  the  ranks  of  the  foe  we  must  encounter  in  no  mere 
pageant  of  war. 

"In  a  few  moments  our  forces  came  up,  and  at  first  one 
brigade  deployed  on  the  left  and  another  on  the  right  of  the 
pike.  At  last  I  witnessed  a  scene  that  had  the  aspect  of 
war.  A  great  thirty -pound  Parrot  gun  unlimbered  in  the 
centre  of  the  pike,  and  looked  like  a  surly  mastiff.  In  a 
moment  an  officer,  who  understood  his  business,  sighted  it. 
There  was  a  flash,  bright  even  in  the  July  sunlight,  a  grand 
report  awakening  the  first  echoes  of  a  battle  whose  thunder 
was  heard  even  in  Washington;  and  a  second  later  we  saw 
the  shell  explode  directly  over  the  line  of  Confederate  in 
fantry.  Their  ranks  broke  and  melted  away  as  if  by 
magic." 


168  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

"Good  shot,  well  aimed.  Oh  heavens!  what  would  I  not 
give  to  be  thirty  years  younger!  Go  on,  Graham,  go  on;" 
for  the  young  man  had  stopped  to  take  a  sip  of  wine. 

"Y"es,  Graham,"  cried  Hilland,  springing  to  his  feet; 
"what  next?" 

"I  fear  we  are  doing  Mr.  Graham  much  wrong,"  Grace 
interrupted.  "He  must  be  going  far  beyond  his  strength." 

The  young  man  had  addressed  his  words  almost  solely 
to  the  major,  not  only  out  of  courtesy,  but  also  for  a  reason 
that  Grace  partially  surmised.  He  now  turned  and  smiled 
into  her  flushed,  troubled  face,  and  said,  "I  fear  you  find 
these  details  of  war  dull  and  wearisome. " 

"On  the  contrary,  you  are  so  vivid  a  raconteur  that  I 
fear  Warren  will  start  for  the  front  before  you  are  through." 

"When  I  am  through,  you  will  think  differently." 

"But  you  are  going  beyond  your  strength." 

"I  assure  you  I  am  not;  though  I  thank  you  for  your 
thoughtfulness.  I  never  felt  better  in  my  life;  and  it  gives 
me  a  kind  of  pleasure  to  make  you  all  realize  things  as  I  saw 
them." 

"And  it  gives  us  great  pleasure  to  listen,"  cried  Hil 
land.  "Even  Mrs.  May  burn  there  is  knitting  as  if  her 
needles  were  bayonets;  and  Grace  has  the  flush  of  a  sol 
dier's  daughter  on  her  cheeks." 

"Oh,  stop  your  chatter,  and  let  Graham  go  on,"  said 
the  major — "that  is,  if  it's  prudent  for  him,"  he  added 
from  a  severe  sense  of  duty.  "What  followed  that  blessed 
shell?" 

"A  lame  and  impotent  conclusion  in  the  form  of  many 
other  shells  that  evoked  no  reply;  and  beyond  his  feeble 
demonstration  Tyler  did  nothing.  It  seemed  to  me  that  a 
determined  dash  at  the  bridge  would  have  carried  it.  I 
was  fretting  and  fuming  about  when  a  staff-officer  gave  me 
a  hint  that  nothing  was  to  be  done  at  present — that  it  was 
all  only  a  feint,  and  that  the  columns  that  had  gone  north 
ward  through  the  woods  would  begin  the  real  work.  His 
words  were  scarcely  spoken  before  I  was  making  my  way 


TWO    BATTLES  169 

to  the  rear.  I  soon  reached  McDowell's  carriage  at  the  in 
tersection  of  the  roads,  and  found  it  empty.  Learning  that 
the  general,  in  his  impatience,  had  taken  horse  and  galloped 
off  to  see  what  had  become  of  his  tardy  commanders,  I  fol 
lowed  at  full  speed. 

"It  was  a  wild,  rough  road,  scarcely  more  than  a  lane 
through  the  woods;  but  May  burn  was  equal  to  it,  and  like 
a  bird  carried  me  through  its  gloomy  shades,  where  1  ob 
served  not  a  few  skulkers  cowering  in  the  brush  as  I  sped 
by.  I  overtook  Heintzelman's  command  as  it  was  crossing 
the  run  at  Sudley's  Ford;  and  such  a  scene  of  confusion  I 
hope  never  to  witness  again.  The  men  were  emptying  their 
canteens  and  refilling  them,  laving  their  hands  and  faces, 
and  refreshing  themselves  generally.  It  was  really  quite  a 
picnic.  Officers  twere  storming  and  ordering  'the  boys' — 
and  boys  they  seemed,  indeed — to  move  on;  and  by  dint  of 
much  profanity,  and  the  pressure  of  those  following,  regi 
ment  after  regiment  at  last  straggled  up  the  further  bank, 
went  into  brigade  formation,  and  shambled  forward." 

"The  cursed  mob!"  muttered  the  major. 

"Well,  poor  fellows!  they  soon  won  my  respect;  and 
yet,  as  I  saw  them  then,  stopping  to  pick  blackberries  along 
the  road,  I  did  feel  like  riding  them  down.  I  suppose  my 
horse  and  I  lowered  the  stream  somewhat  as  we  drank,  for 
the  day  had  grown  sultry  and  the  sun's  rays  intensely  hot 
Then  I  hastened  on  to  find  the  general.  It  seemed  as  if  we 
should  never  get  out  of  the  woods,  as  if  the  army  had  lost 
itself  in  an  interminable  forest.  Wild  birds  and  game  fled 
before  us;  and  I  heard  one  soldier  call  out  to  another  that 
it  was  'a  regular  Virginia  coon- hunt.'  As  I  reached  the 
head  of  the  column  the  timber  grew  thinner,  and  I  was  told 
that  McDowell  was  reconnoitring  in  advance.  Galloping 
out  into  the  open  fields,  I  saw  him  far  beyond  me,  already 
the  target  of  Rebel  bullets.  His  staff  and  a  company  of 
cavalry  were  with  him;  and  as  I  approached  he  seemed 
rapidly  taking  in  the  topographical  features  of  the  field. 
Having  apparently  satisfied  himself,  he  galloped  to  the 
H— ROE— XIII 


170  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

rear;  and  at  the  same  time  Hunter's  troops  came  pouring 
out  of  the  woods. 

"There  was  now  a  prospect  of  warm  work  and  plenty  of 
it.  For  the  life  of  me  I  can't  tell  you  how  the  battle  began. 
Our  men  came  forward  in  an  irregular  manner,  rushing  on 
ward  impetuously,  halting  unnecessarily,  with  no  master 
mind  directing.  It  seemed  at  first  as  if  the  mere  momen 
tum  of  the  march  carried  us  under  the  enemy's  fire;  and 
then  there  was  foolish  delay.  By  the  aid  of  my  powerful 
glass  I  was  convinced  that  we  might  have  walked  right 
over  the  first  thin  Eebel  line  on  the  ridge  nearest  us. 

"The  artillery  exchanged  shots  awhile.  Eegiments  un 
der  the  command  of  General  Burnside  deployed  in  the  fields 
to  the  left  of  the  road  down  which  we  had  come;  skirmish 
ers  were  thrown  out  rapidly  and  began  their  irregular  firing 
at  an  absurd  distance  from  the  enemy.  There  was  hesitancy, 
delay;  and  the  awkwardness  of  troops  unaccustomed  to  act 
together  in  large  bodies  was  enhanced  by  the  excitement 
inseparable  from  their  first  experience  of  real  war. 

"In  spite  of  all  this  the  battlefield  began  to  present  grand 
and  inspiring  effects.  The  troops  were  debouching  rapidly 
from  the  woods,  their  bayonets  gleaming  here  and  there 
through  the  dust  raised  by  their  hurrying  feet,  and  burn 
ing  in  serried  lines  when  they  were  ranged  under  the  cloud 
less  sun.  In  every  movement  made  by  every  soldier  the 
metal  points  in  his  accoutrements  flashed  and  scintillated. 
Again  there  was  something  very  spirited  in  the  appearance 
of  a  battery  rushed  into  position  at  a  gallop — the  almost  in 
stantaneous  unlimbering,  the  caissons  moving  to  the  rear, 
and  the  guns  at  the  same  moment  thundering  their  defiance, 
while  the  smoke,  lifting  slowly  on  the  heavy  air,  rises  and 
blends  with  that  of  the  other  side,  and  hangs  like  a  pall  to 
leeward  of  the  field.  The  grandest  thing  of  all,  however, 
was  the  change  in  the  men.  The  uncouth,  coarsely  jesting, 
blackberry-picking  fellows  that  lagged  and  straggled  to  the 
battle  became  soldiers  in  their  instincts  and  rising  excite 
ment  and  courage,  if  not  in  machine-like  discipline  and  cool- 


TWO   BATTLES  171 

ness.  As  I  rode  here  and  there  I  could  see  that  they  were 
erect,  eager,  and  that  their  eyes  began  to  glow  like  coals 
from  their  dusty,  sunburned  visages.  If  there  were  occa 
sional  evidences  of  fear,  there  were  more  of  resolution  and 
desire  for  the  fray. 

"The  aspect  of  affairs  on  the  ridge,  where  the  enemy 
awaited  us,  did  not  grow  encouraging.  With  my  glass  I 
could  see  re-inforcements  coming  up  rapidly  during  our 
delay.  New  guns  were  seeking  position,  which  was 
scarcely  taken  before  there  was  a  puff  of  smoke  and  their 
iron  message.  Heavens!  what  a  vicious  sound  those  shells 
had!  something  between  a  whiz  and  a  shriek.  Even  the 
horses  would  cringe  and  shudder  when  one  passed  over 
them,  and  the  men  would  duck  their  heads,  though  the 
missile  was  thirty  feet  in  the  air.  I  suppose  there  was 
some  awfully  wild  firing  on  both  sides;  but  I  saw  several 
of  our  men  carried  to  the  rear.  But  all  this  detail  is  an 
old,  old  story  to  you,  Major." 

"Yes,  an  old  story,  but  one  that  can  never  lose  its  fierce 
charm.  I  see  it  all  as  you  describe  it.  Go  on,  and  omit 
nothing  you  can  remember  of  the  scene.  Mrs.  May  burn 
looks  as  grim  as  one  of  your  cannon;  and  Grace,  my  child, 
you  won't  flinch,  will  you  ?" 

"No,  papa." 

"That's  my  brave  wife's  child.  She  often  said,  'Tell 
me  all.  I  wish  to  know  just  what  you  have  passed 
through.'  ' 

A  brief  glance  assured  Graham  that  her  father's  spirit 
was  then  supreme,  and  that  she  looked  with  woman's  ad 
miration  on  a  scene  replete  with  the  manhood  woman  most 
admires. 

"I  cannot  describe  to  you  the  battle,  as  such,1'  contin 
ued  Graham.  "I  can  only  outline  faintly  the  picture  I  saw 
dimly  through  dust  and  smoke  from  my  own  standpoint. 
Being  under  no  one's  orders,  I  could  go  where  I  pleased, 
and  I  tried  to  find  the  vital  points.  Of  course,  there  was 
much  heavy  fighting  that  I  saw  nothing  of,  movements  un- 


172  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

known  to  me  or  caught  but  imperfectly.  During  the  pre 
liminary  conflict  I  remained  on  the  right  of  Burnside's  com 
mand  near  the  Sudley  Eoad  by  which  our  army  had  reached 
the  field. 

"When  at  last  Ms  troops  began  to  press  forward,  their 
advance  was  decided  and  courageous;  but  the  enemy  held 
their  own  stubbornly.  The  fighting  was  severe  and  deadly, 
for  we  were  now  within  easy  musket  range.  At  one  time 
I  trembled  for  Burnside's  lines,  and  I  saw  one  of  his  aides 
gallop  furiously  to  the  rear  for  help.  It  came  almost  im 
mediately  in  the  form  of  a  fine  body  of  regulars  under 
Major  Sykes;  and  our  wavering  lines  were  rendered  firm 
and  more  aggressive  than  ever.  At  the  same  time  it  was 
evident  that  our  forces  were  going  into  action  off  to  the 
right  of  the  Sudley  Eoad,  and  that  another  battery  had 
opened  on  the  enemy.  I  afterward  learned  that  they  were 
Bickett's  guns.  Under  this  increasing  and  relentless  pres 
sure  the  enemy's  lines  were  seen  to  waver.  Wild  cheers 
went  up  from  our  ranks;  and  such  is  the  power  of  the 
human  voice — the  echo  direct  from  the  heart — that  these 
shouts  rose  above  the  roar  of  the  cannon,  the  crash  of  mus 
ketry,  and  thrilled  every  nerve  and  fibre.  Onward  pressed 
our  men;  the  Eebel  lines  yielded,  broke,  and  our  foes  re 
treated  down  the  hill,  but  at  a  dogged,  stubborn  pace, 
fighting  as  they  went.  Seeing  the  direction  they  were 
taking,  I  dashed  into  the  Sudley  Eoad  near  which  1  had 
kept  as  the  centre  of  operations.  At  the  intersection  of  this 
road  with  the  Warrenton  Turnpike  was  a  stone  house,  and 
behind  this  the  enemy  rallied  as  if  determined  to  retreat  no 
further.  I  had  scarcely  observed  this  fact  when  I  saw  a 
body  of  men  forming  in  the  road  just  above  me.  In  a  few 
moments  they  were  in  motion.  On  they  came,  a  resistless 
human  turrent  with  a  roar  of  hoarse  shouts  and  cries.  I  was 
carried  along  with  them;  but  before  we  reached  the  stone 
house  the  enemy  broke  and  fled,  and  the  whole  Eebel  line 
was  swept  back  half  a  mile  or  more. 

"Thus  you  see  that  in  the  first  severe  conflict  of  the  day, 


TWO    BATTLES  173 

and  when  pitted  against  numbers  comparatively  equal,  we 
won  a  decided  victory." 

Both  the  major  and  Hilland  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief; 
and  the  former  said:  "I  have  been  hasty  and  unjust  in  my 
censure.  If  that  raw  militia  could  be  made  to  fight  at  all, 
it  can  in  time  be  made  to  fight  well.  Mr.  Graham,  you  have 
deeply  gratified  an  old  soldier  to-night  by  describing  scenes 
that  carry  me  back  to  the  grand  era  of  my  life.  I  believe 
I  was  born  to  be  a  soldier;  and  my  old  campaigns  stand 
out  in  memory  like  sun-lighted  mountain- tops.  Forgive 
such  high-flown  talk — I  know  it's  not  like  me — but  I've 
had  to-night  some  of  my  old  battle  excitement.  I  never 
thought  to  feel  it  again.  We'll  hear  the  rest  of  your  story 
to-morrow.  I  outrank  you  all,  by  age  at  least;  and  1  now 
order  'taps.'  ' 

Graham  was  not  sorry,  for  in  strong  reaction  a  sudden 
sense  of  almost  mortal  weakness  overcame  him.  Even  the 
presence  of  Grace,  for  whose  sake,  after  all,  he  had  uncon 
sciously  told  his  story,  could  not  sustain  him  any  longer, 
and  he  sank  back  looking  very  white. 

"You  have  overexerted  yourself,"  she  said  gently, 
coming  to  his  side.  "You  should  have  stopped  when  I 
cautioned  you;  or  rather,  we  should  have  been  more 
thoughtful." 

"Perhaps  I  have  overrated  my  strength — it's  a  fault 
of  mine,"  was  his  smiling  reply.  "I  shall  be  perfectly 
well  after  a  night's  rest." 

He  had  looked  up  at  her  as  he  spoke;  and  in  that  mo 
ment  of  weakness  there  was  a  wistful,  hungry  look  in  his 
eyes  that  smote  her  heart. 

A  shallow,  silly  woman,  or  an  intensely  selfish  one, 
would  have  exulted.  Here  was  a  man,  cool,  strong,  and 
masterful  among  other  men — a  man  who  had  gone  to  the 
other  side  of  the  globe  to  escape  her  power — one  who 
within  the  last  few  days  had  witnessed  a  battle  with  the 
quiet  poise  that  enabled  him  to  study  it  as  an  artist  or 
a  tactician;  and  yet  he  could  not  keep  his  eyes  from  betray- 


174  BIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

ing  the  truth  that  there  was  something  within  his  heart 
stronger  than  himself. 

Did  Grace  Hilland  lay  this  flattering  unction  to  her  soul  ? 
No.  She  went  away  inexpressibly  sad.  She  felt  that  two 
battle  scenes  had  been  presented  to  her  mind;  and  the  con 
flict  that  had  been  waged  silently,  patiently,  and  unceas 
ingly  in  a  strong  man's  soul  had  to  her  the  higher  elements 
of  heroism.  It  was  another  of  those  wretched  problems 
offered  by  this  imperfect  world  for  which  there  seems  no 
remedy. 

When  Hilland  hastened  over  to  see  his  friend  and  add 
a  few  hearty  words  to  those  he  had  already  spoken,  he  was 
told  that  he  was  sleeping. 


THE   LOGIC    OF   EVENTS  175 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE   LOGIC   OF   EVENTS 

GRAHAM  was  right  in  his  prediction  that  another 
night's  rest  would  carry  him  far  on  the  road  to 
recovery;  and  he  insisted,  when  Hilland  called  in 
the  morning,  that  the  major  should  remain  in  his  accus 
tomed  chair  at  home,  and  listen  to  the  remainder  of  the 
story.  "My  habit  of  life  is  so  active,"  he  said,  "that  a  little 
change  will  do  me  good;1'  and  so  it  was  arranged.  By 
leaning  on  Hilland's  shoulder  he  was  able  to  limp  the  short 
distance  between  the  cottages;  and  he  found  that  Grace  had 
made  every  arrangement  for  his  comfort  on  the  piazza, 
where  the  major  welcomed  him  with  almost  the  eagerness 
of  a  child  for  whom  an  absorbing  story  is  to  be  continued. 

"  You  can't  know  how  you  interested  us  all  last  night," 
Grace  began.  "I  never  knew  papa  to  be  more  gratified; 
and  as  for  Warren,  he  could  not  sleep  for  excitement. 
Where  did  you  learn  to  tell  stories?" 

"I  was  said  to  be  very  good  at  fiction  when  a  boy,  espe 
cially  when  1  got  into  scrapes..  But  you  can't  expect  in  this 
garish  light  any  such  effects  as  I  may  have  created  last 
evening.  It  requires  the  mysterious  power  of  night  and 
other  conditions  to  secure  a  glamour;  and  so  you  must  look 
for  the  baldest  prose  to-day." 

"Indeed,  Graham,  we  scarcely  know  what  to  expect  from 
you  any  more,"  Hilland  remarked.  "From  being  a  quiet 
cynic  philosopher,  content  to  delve  in  old  libraries  like  the 
typical  bookworm,  you  become  an  indefatigable  sportsman, 
horse-tamer,  explorer  of  the  remote  parts  of  the  earth,  and 
last,  and  strangest,  a  newspaper  correspondent  who  doesn't 


176  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

know  that  the  place  to  see  and  write  about  battles  is  several 
miles  in  the  rear.  What  will  you  do  next?" 

"My  future  will  be  redeemed  from  the  faintest  trace  of 
eccentricity.  I  shall  do  what  about  a  million  other  Ameri 
cans  will  do  eventually — go  into  the  army. ' ' 

"Ah!  now  you  talk  sense,  and  I  am  with  you.  I  shall  be 
ready  to  go  as  soon  as  you  are  well  enough. ' ' 

"I  doubt  it." 

"I  don't." 

"Grace,  what  do  you  say  to  all  this?"  turning  a  troubled 
look  upon  the  wife. 

"I  foresee  that,  like  my  mother,  I  am  to  be  the  wife  of 
a  soldier,"  she  replied  with  a  smile,  while  tears  stood  in  her 
eyes.  "I  did  not  marry  Warren  to  destroy  his  sense  of 
manhood." 

"You  see,  Graham,  how  it  is.  You  also  perceive  what 
a  knight  I  must  be  to  be  worthy  of  the  lady  I  leave  in 
bower. ' ' 

"Yes;  I  see  it  all  too  well.  But  I  must  misquote  Shake 
speare  to  you,  and  'charge  you  to  stand  on  the  order  of  your 
going;'  and  I  think  the  rest  of  my  story  will  prove  that  I 
have  good  reason  for  the  charge." 

"I  should  have  been  sorry,"  said  the  major,  "to  have 
had  Grace  marry  a  man  who  would  consult  only  ease  and 
safety  in  times  like  these.  It  will  be  awfully  hard  to  have 
him  go.  But  the  time  may  soon  come  when  it  would  be 
harder  for  Grace  to  have  him  stay;  that  is,  if  she  is  like 
her  mother.  But  what's  the  use  of  looking  at  the  gloomy 
side?  I've  been  through  a  dozen  battles;  and  here  I  am  to 
plague  the  world  yet.  But  now  for  the  story.  You  left  ofi, 
Mr.  Graham,  at  the  rout  of  the  first  Eebel  line  of  battle. ' ' 

"And  this  had  not  been  attained,"  resumed  Graham, 
"without  serious  loss  to  our  side.  Colonel  Hunter,  who 
commanded  the  Second  Division,  you  remember,  was  so 
severely  wounded  by  a  shell  that  he  had  to  leave  the  field 
early  in  the  action.  Colonel  Slocum  of  one  of  the  Rhode 
Island  regiments  was  mortally  wounded;  and  his  major  had 


THE   LOGIC    OF   EVENTS  177 

his  leg  crushed  by  a  cannon  ball  which  at  the  same  time 
killed  his  horse.  Many  others  were  wounded  and  must 
have  had  a  hard  time  of  it,  poor  fellows,  that  hot  day. 
As  for  the  dead  that  strewed  the  ground — their  troubles 
were  over." 

"But  not  the  troubles  of  those  that  loved  them,"  said 
Grace,  bitterly. 

Graham  turned  hastily  away.  When  a  moment  later  he 
resumed  his  narrative,  she  noticed  that  his  eyes  were  moist 
and  his  tones  husky. 

"Our  heaviest  loss  was  in  the  demoralization  of  some 
of  the  regiments  engaged.  They  appeared  to  have  so  little 
cohesion  that  one  feared  all  the  time  that  they  might  crum 
ble  away  into  mere  human  atoms. 

"The  affair  continually  took  on  a  larger  aspect,  as  more 
troops  became  engaged.  We  had  driven  the  Confederates 
down  a  gentle  slope,  across  a  small  stream  called  Young's 
Branch,  and  up  a  hill  beyond  and  to  the  south.  This  posi 
tion  was  higher  and  stronger  than  any  they  had  yet  occu 
pied.  On  the  crest  of  the  hill  were  two  houses;  and  the 
enemy  could  be  seen  forming  a  line  extending  from  one  to 
the  other.  They  were  evidently  receiving  re-enforcements 
rapidly.  I  could  see  gray  columns  hastening  forward  and 
deploying;  and  I've  no  doubt  that  many  of  the  fugitives 
were  rallied  beyond  this  line.  Meanwhile,  I  was  informed 
that  Tyler's  Division,  left  in  the  morning  at  Stone  Bridge, 
had  crossed  the  Run,  in  obedience  to  McDowell's  orders, 
and  were  on  the  field  at  the  left  of  our  line.  Such,  as  far 
as  I  could  judge,  was  the  position  of  affairs  between  twelve 
and  one,  although  I  can  give  you  only  my  impressions.  It 
appeared  to  me  that  our  men  were  fighting  well,  gradually 
and  steadily  advancing,  and  closing  in  upon  the  enemy. 
Still,  I  cannot  help  feeling  that  if  we  had  followed  up  our 
success  by  the  determined  charge  of  one  brigade  that  would 
hold  together,  the  hill  might  have  been  swept,  and  victory 
made  certain. 

"I  had  taken  my  position  near  Rickett's  and  Griffin's 


178  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

batteries  on  the  right  of  our  line,  and  decided  to  follow 
them  up,  not  only  because  they  were  doing  splendid  work, 
but  also  for  the  reason  that  they  would  naturally  be  given 
commanding  positions  at  vital  points.  By  about  two  o'clock 
we  had  occupied  the  Warrenton  Turnpike;  and  we  justly 
felt  that  much  had  been  gained.  The  Confederate  lines  be 
tween  the  two  houses  on  the  hill  had  given  way;  and  from 
the  sounds  we  heard,  they  must  have  been  driven  back  also 
by  a  charge  on  our  extreme  left.  Indeed,  there  was  scarcely 
anything  to  be  seen  of  the  foe  that  thus  far  had  been  not 
only  seen  but  felt. 

"From  a  height  near  the  batteries  where  I  stood,  the 
problem  appeared  somewhat  clear  to  me.  We  had  driven 
the  enemy  up  and  over  a  hill  of  considerable  altitude,  and 
across  an  uneven  plateau,  and  they  were  undoubtedly  in 
the  woods  beyond,  a  splendid  position  which  commanded 
the  entire  open  space  over  which  we  must  advance  to  reach 
them.  They  were  in  cover;  we  should  be  in  full  view  in 
all  efforts  to  dislodge  them.  Their  very  reverses  had  secured 
for  them  a  position  worth  half  a  dozen  regiments;  and  I 
trembled  as  I  thought  of  our  raw  militia  advancing  under 
conditions  that  would  try  the  courage  of  veterans.  You 
remember  that  if  Washington,  in  the  Revolution,  could 
get  his  new  recruits  behind  a  rail-fence,  they  thought  they 
were  safe. 

"Well,  there  was  no  help  for  it.  The  hill  and  plateau 
must  be  crossed  under  a  pointblank  fire,  in  order  to  reach 
the  enemy,  and  that,  too,  by  men  who  had  been  under  arms 
since  midnight,  and  the  majority  wearied  by  a  long  march 
under  a  blazing  sun. 

"About  half -past  two,  when  the  assault  began,  a  strange 
and  ominous  quiet  rested  on  the  field.  As  I  have  said,  the 
enemy  had  disappeared.  The  men  scarcely  knew  what  to 
think  of  it;  and  in  some  a  false  confidence,  speedily  dis 
pelled,  was  begotten.  Eickett's  battery  was  moved  down 
across  the  valley  to  the  top  of  a  hill  just  beyond  the  resi 
dence  owned  and  occupied  by  a  Mrs.  Henry.  I  followed 


THE   LOGIC    OF   EVENTS  179 

and  entered  the  house,  already  shattered  by  shot  and  shell, 
curious  to  know  whether  it  was  occupied,  and  by  whom. 
Pitiful  to  relate,  I  found  that  Mrs.  Henry  was  a  widow  and 
a  helpless  invalid.  The  poor  woman  was  in  mortal  terror; 
and  it  was  my  hope  to  return  and  carry  her  to  some  place 
of  safety,  but  the  swift  and  deadly  tide  of  war  gave  me 
no  chance.1 

"Eicketts7  battery  had  scarcely  unlimbered  before  death 
was  busy  among  his  cannoneers  and  even  his  horses.  The 
enemy  had  the  cover  not  only  of  the  woods,  but  of  a  second 
growth  of  pines,  which  fringed  them  and  completely  con 
cealed  the  Eebel  sharpshooters.  When  a  man  fell,  nothing 
could  be  seen  but  a  puff  of  smoke.  These  little  jets  and 
wreaths  of  smoke  half  encircled  us,  and  made  but  a  phantom- 
like  target  for  our  people;  and  I  think  it  speaks  well  for 
officers  and  men  that  they  not  only  did  their  duty,  but  that 
Griffin's  battery  also  came  up,  and  that  both  batteries  held 
their  own  against  a  terrific  pointblank  fire  from  the  Rebel 
cannon,  which  certainly  exceeded  ours  in  number.  The 
range  was  exceedingly  short,  and  a  more  terrific  artillery 
duel  it  would  be  hard  to  imagine.  At  the  same  time  the 
more  deadly  little  puffs  of  smoke  continued;  and  men  in 
every  attitude  of  duty  would  suddenly  throw  up  their  hands 
and  fall.  The  batteries  had  no  business  to  be  so  exposed, 
and  their  supports  were  of  no  real  service. 

"I  can  give  you  an  idea  of  what  occurred  at  this  point 
only;  but,  from  the  sounds  I  heard,  there  was  very  heavy 
fighting  elsewhere,  which  I  fear,  however,  was  too  spasmodic 
and  ill-directed  to  accomplish  the  required  ends.  A  heavy, 
persistent,  concentrated  attack,  a  swift  push  with  the  bayo 
net  through  the  low  pines  and  woods,  would  have  saved  the 
day.  Perhaps  our  troops  were  not  equal  to  it;  and  yet, 
poor  fellows,  they  did  braver  things  that  were  utterly 
useless. 

"I  still  believe,  however,  all  might  have  gone  well,  had 

1  Mrs.  Henry,  although  confined  to  her  bed,  was  wounded  two  or  three 
times,  and  died  soon  afterward. 


180  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

it  not  been  for  a  horrible  mistake.  I  was  not  very  far  from 
Captain  Griffin,  and  was  watching  his  cool,  effective  super 
intendence  of  his  guns,  when  suddenly  I  noticed  a  regiment 
in  full  view  on  our  right  advancing  toward  us.  Griffin 
caught  sight  of  it  at  the  same  moment,  and  seemed  amazed. 
Were  they  Confederates  or  National  ?  was  the  question  to 
be  decided  instantly.  They  might  be  his  own  support. 
Doubtful  and  yet  exceedingly  apprehensive,  he  ordered 
his  guns  to  be  loaded  with  canister  and  trained  upon  this 
dubious  force  that  had  come  into  view  like  an  apparition; 
but  he  still  hesitated,  restrained,  doubtless,  by  the  fearful 
thought  of  annihilating  a  Union  regiment. 

"  'Captain,'  said  Major  Barry,  chief  of  artillery,  'they 
are  your  battery  support' 

"  'They  are  Confederates,'  Griffin  replied,  intensely  ex 
cited.  'As  certain  as  the  world,  they  are  Confederates.' 

"  'No,'  was  the  answer,  'I  know  they  are  your  battery 
support. ' 

"I  had  ridden  up  within  ear- shot,  and  levelled  my  glass 
upon  them.  'Don't  fire,'  cried  Griffin,  and  he  spurred  for 
ward  to  satisfy  himself. 

"At  the  same  moment  the  regiment,  now  within  short 
range,  by  a  sudden  instantaneous  act  levelled  their  muskets 
at  us.  I  saw  we  were  doomed,  and  yet  by  some  instinct 
tightened  my  rein  while  I  dug  my  spurs  into  my  horse.  He 
reared  instantly.  I  saw  a  line  of  fire,  and  then  poor  May- 
burn  fell  upon  me,  quivered,  and  was  dead.  The  body  of 
a  man  broke  my  fall  in  such  a  way  that  I  was  not  hurt. 
Indeed,  at  the  moment  I  was  chiefly  conscious  of  intense 
anger  and  disgust.  If  Griffin  had  followed  his  instinct  and 
destroyed  that  regiment,  as  he  could  have  done  by  one  dis 
charge,  the  result  of  the  whole  battle  might  have  been  dif 
ferent.  As  it  was,  both  his  and  Rickett's  batteries  were 
practically  annihilated."  ' 

1  Since  the  above  was  written  Colonel  Hasbrouck  has  given  me  an  account 
of  this  crisis  in  the  battle.  He  was  sufficiently  near  to  hear  the  conversation 
found  in  the  text,  and  to  enable  me  to  supplement  it  by  fuller  details.  Cap- 


THE   LOGIC   OF   EVENTS  181 

The  major  uttered  an  imprecation. 

"I  was  pinned  to  the  ground  by  the  weight  of  my  horse, 
but  not  so  closely  but  that  I  could  look  around.  The  car 
nage  had  been  frightful.  But  few  were  on  their  feet,  and 
they  in  rapid  motion  to  the  rear.  The  horses  left  alive 
rushed  down  the  hill  with  the  caissons,  spreading  dismay, 
confusion,  and  disorder  through  the  ascending  line  of  battle. 
Our  supporting  regiment  in  the  rear,  that  had  been  lying  on 
their  arms,  sprang  to  their  feet  and  stood  like  men  paralyzed 
with  horror;  meanwhile,  the  Rebel  regiment,  re-enforced,(was 
advancing  rapidly  on  the  disabled  guns — their  defenders  lay 
beneath  and  around  them — firing  as  they  came.  Our  sup 
port  gave  them  one  ineffectual  volley,  then  turned  and  fled. ' ' 

taiu  Griffin  emphatically  declared  that  no  Union  regiment  could  possibly  come 
from  that  quarter,  adding,  "They  are  dressed  in  gray." 

Major  Barry  with  equal  emphasis  asserted  that  they  were  National  troops, 
and  unfortunately  we  had  regiments  in  gray  uniforms.  Seeing  that  Captain 
Griffin  was  not  convinced,  he  said  peremptorily,  "I  command  you  not  to  fire 
on  that  regiment." 

Of  course  this  direct  order  ended  the  controversy,  and  Captain  Griffin 
directed  that  his  guns  be  shifted  again  toward  the  main  body  of  the  enemy, 
while  he  rode  forward  a  little  space  to  reconnoitre. 

During  all  this  fatal  delay  the  Confederate  regiment  was  approaching, 
marching  by  the  flank,  and  so  passed  at  one  time  within  pointblank  range 
of  the  guns  that  would  scarcely  have  left  a  man  upon  his  feet.  The  nature  of 
their  advance  was  foolhardy  in  the  extreme,  and  at  the  time  that  Captain  Griffin 
wished  to  fire  they  were  practically  helpless.  A  Virginia  worm-fence  was  in 
their  path,  and  so  frightened,  nervous,  and  excited  were  they  that,  instead  of 
tearing  it  down,  they  began  clambering  over  it  until  by  weight  and  numbers 
it  was  trampled  under  foot 

They  approached  so  near  that  the  order  to  "fire  low"  was  distinctly  heard 
by  our  men  as  the  Confederates  went  into  battle-line  formation. 

The  scene  following  their  volley  almost  defies  description.  The  horses  at 
tached  to  caissons  not  only  tore  down  and  through  the  ascending  National 
battle-line,  but  Colonel — then  Lieutenant — Hasbrouck  saw  several  teams  dash 
over  the  knoll  toward  the  Confederate  regiment,  that  opened  ranks  to  let  them 
pass.  So  novel  were  the  scenes  of  war  at  that  time  that  the  Confederates  were 
as  much  astonished  as  the  members  of  the  batteries  left  alive,  and  at  first  did 
not  advance,  although  it  was  evident  that  there  were,  at  the  moment,  none  to 
oppose  them.  The  storm  of  Rebel  bullets  had  ranged  so  low  that  Lieutenant 
Hasbrouck  and  Captain  Griffin  owed  their  safety  to  the  fact  that  they  were 
mounted.  The  horses  of  both  officers  were  wounded.  On  the  way  down  the 
northern  slope  of  the  hill,  with  the  few  Union  survivors,  Captain  Griffin  met 
Major  Barry,  and  in  his  intense  anger  and  grief  reproached  him  bitterly.  The 
latter  gloomily  admitted  that  he  had  been  mistaken. 

Captain  Ricketts  was  wounded,  and  the  battle  subsequently  surged  back 
and  forth  over  his  prostrate  form,  but  eventually  he  was  sent  as  a  captive  to 
Richmond. 


182  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

Again  the  major  relieved  his  mind  in  his  characteristic 
way. 

"But  you,  Alford?"  cried  Grace,  leaning  forward  with 
clasped  hands,  while  his  aunt  came  and  buried  her  face  upon 
his  shoulder.  "Are  you  keeping  your  promise  to  live?" 
she  whispered. 

"Am  I  not  here  safe  and  sound?"  he  replied,  cheerily. 
"Nothing  much  happened  to  me,  Grace.  When  I  saw  the 
enemy  was  near,  I  merely  doubled  myself  up  under  my 
horse,  and  was  nothing  to  them  but  a  dead  Yankee.  I  was 
only  somewhat  trodden  upon,  as  I  told  you,  when  the  Con 
federates  tried  to  turn  the  guns  against  our  forces. 

"I  fear  I  am  doing  a  wrong  to  the  ladies  by  going  into 
these  sanguinary  details. ' ' 

"No,"  said  the  major,  emphatically;  "Mrs.  May  burn 
would  have  been  a  general  had  she  been  a  man ;  and  Grace 
has  heard  about  battles  all  her  life.  It's  a  great  deal  better 
to  understand  from  the  start  what  this  war  means. ' ' 

"I  especially  wished  Hilland  to  hear  the  details  of  this 
battle  as  far  as  I  saw  them,  for  I  think  they  contain  lessons 
that  may  be  of  great  service  to  him.  That  he  would  engage 
in  the  war  was  a  foregone  conclusion  from  the  first;  and 
with  his  means  and  ability  he  may  take  a  very  important 
part  in  it.  But  of  this  later. 

"As  1  told  you,  I  made  the  rather  close  acquaintance  of 
your  kin,  Grace,  and  can  testify  that  the  'fa'  of  their  feet' 
was  not  'fairy- like.'  Before  they  could  accomplish  their 
purpose  of  turning  the  guns  on  our  lines,  I  heard  the  rush 
ing  tramp  of  a  multitude,  with  defiant  shouts  and  yells. 
Kebels  fell  around  me.  The  living  left  the  guns,  sought 
to  form  a  line,  but  suddenly  gave  way  in  dire  confusion, 
and  fled  to  the  cover  from  which  they  came.  A  moment 
later  a  body  of  our  men  surged  like  an  advancing  wave 
over  the  spot  they  had  occupied. 

"Now  was  my  chance;  and  I  reached  up  and  seized  the 
nand  of  a  tall,  burly  Irishman. 

"   What  the  divil  du  ye  want?"    he  cried,  and  in  his 


THE    LOGIC    OF   EVENTS  183 

mad  excitement  was  about  to  thrust  me  through  for  a  Con 
federate. 

"  'Halt!'  I  thundered.  The  familiar  word  of  command 
restrained  him  long  enough  for  me  to  secure  his  attention. 
'Would  you  kill  a  Union  man  ?'  " 

"  'Is  it  Union  ye  are?  What  yez  doin'  here,  thin,  widut 
a  uniform  ?' 

"I  showed  him  my  badge  of  correspondent,  and  explained 
briefly. 

"Strange  as  it  may  seem  to  you,  he  uttered  a  loud,  jolly 
laugh.  'Faix,  an'  it's  a  writer  ye  are.  Ye'll  be  apt  to  git 
some  memmyrandums  the  day  that  ye'll  carry  about  wid  ye 
till  ye  die,  and  that  may  be  in  about  a  minnit.  I'll  shtop 
long  enough  to  give  yez  a  lift,  or  yez  hoss,  rather;'  and  he 
seized  poor  May  burn  by  the  head.  His  excitement  seemed 
to  give  him  the  strength  of  a  giant,  for  in  a  moment  I  was 
released  and  stood  erect. 

"  'Give  me  a  musket,'  I  cried,  'and  I'll  stand  by  you.' 

" 'Bedad,  hilp  yersilf, '  he  replied,  pushing  forward. 
'There's  plenty  o'  fellers  lyin'  aroun'  that  has  no  use  for 
them;'  and  he  was  lost  in  the  confused  advance. 

"All  this  took  place  in  less  time  than  it  takes  to  describe 
it,  for  events  at  that  juncture  were  almost  as  swift  as  bullets. 
Lame  as  I  was,  I  hobbled  around  briskly,  and  soon  secured 
a  good  musket  with  a  supply  of  cartridges.  As  with  the 
rest,  my  blood  was  up — don't  smile,  Hilland:  I  had  been 
pretty  cool  until  the  murderous  discharge  that  killed  my 
horse — and  I  was  soon  in  the  front  line,  firing  with  the  rest. 

"Excited  as  I  was,  I  saw  that  our  position  was  desperate, 
for  a  heavy  force  of  Confederates  was  swarming  toward  us. 
I  looked  around  and  saw  that  part  of  our  men  were  trying 
to  drag  off  the  guns.  This  seemed  the  more  important  work; 
and  discretion  also  whispered  that  with  my  bruised  foot  I 
should  be  captured  m  five  minutes  unless  I  was  further  to 
the  rear.  So  I  took  a  pull  at  a  gun ;  but  we  had  made  little 
progress  before  there  was  another  great  surging  wave  from 
the  other  direction,  and  our  forces  were  swept  down  the  hill 


184  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

again,  I  along  with  the  rest.  The  confusion  was  fear/ul; 
the  regiments  with  which  1  had  been  acting  went  all  to 
pieces,  and  had  no  more  organization  than  if  they  had  been 
mixed  up  by  a  whirlwind. 

"I  was  becoming  too  lame  to  walk,  and  found  myself  in 
a  serious  dilemma." 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!"  laughed  Hilland.  "It  was  just  becom 
ing  serious,  eh?" 

"Well,  I  didn't  realize  my  lameness  before;  and  as  re 
treat  was  soon  to  be  the  order  of  the  day,  there  was  little 
prospect  of  my  doing  my  share.  As  I  was  trying  to  extri 
cate  myself  from  the  shattered  regiments,  I  saw  a  riderless 
horse  plunging  toward  me.  To  seize  his  bridle  and  climb 
into  the  saddle  was  the  work  of  a  moment;  and  I  felt  that, 
unlike  McDowell,  1  was  still  master  of  the  situation.  Work 
ing  my  way  out  of  the  press  and  to  our  right,  I  saw  that 
another  charge  for  the  guns  by  fresh  troops  was  in  progress. 
It  seemed  successful  at  first.  The  guns  were  retaken,  but 
soon  the  same  old  story  was  repeated,  and  a  corresponding 
rush  from  the  other  side  swept  our  men  back. 

"Would  you  believe  it,  this  capture  and  recapture  oc 
curred  several  times.  A  single  regiment  even  would  dash 
forward,  and  actually  drive  the  Eebels  back,  only  to  lose  a 
few  moments  later  what  they  had  gained.  Never  was  there 
braver  fighting,  never  worse  tactics.  The  repeated  suc 
cesses  of  small  bodies  of  troops  proved  that  a  compact  bat 
tle  line  could  have  swept  the  ridge,  and  not  only  retaken 
the  guns,  but  made  them  effective  in  the  conflict.  As  it 
was,  the  two  sides  worried  and  tore  each  other  like  great 
dogs,  governed  merely  by  the  impulse  and  instinct  of  fight. 
The  batteries  were  the  bone  between  them. 

"This  senseless,  wasteful  struggle  could  not  go  on  for 
ever.  That  it  lasted  as  long  as  it  did  speaks  volumes  in 
favor  of  the  material  of  which  our  future  soldiers  are  to  be 
made.  As  I  rode  slowly  from  the  line  and  scene  of  actual 
battle,  of  which  I  had  had  enough,  I  became  disheartened. 
We  had  men  in  plenty — there  were  thousands  on  every  side 


THE   LOGIC,  OF  EVENTS  185 

—but  in  what  condition!  There  was  no  appearance  of  fear 
among  the  men  I  saw  at  about  four  P.M.  (I  can  only  guess 
the  time,  for  my  watch  had  stopped),  but  abundant  evidence 
of  false  confidence  and  still  more  of  the  indifference  of  men 
who  feel  they  have  done  all  that  should  be  required  of  them 
and  are  utterly  fagged  out.  Multitudes,  both  officers  and 
privates,  were  lying  and  lounging  around  waiting  for  their 
comrades  to  finish  the  ball. 

11  For  instance,  1  would  ask  a  man  to  what  regiment  he 
belonged,  and  he  would  tell  me. 

4 "Where  is  it?' 

"  'Hanged  if  I  know.    Saw  a  lot  of  the  boys  awhile  ago.' 

"Said  an  officer  in  answer  to  my  inquiries,  'No;  I  don't 
know  where  the  colonel  is,  and  I  don't  care.  After  one  of 
our  charges  we  all  adjourned  like  a  town  meeting.  I'm 
played  out;  have  been  on  my  feet  since  one  o'clock  last 
night.1 

"These  instances  were  characteristic  of  the  state  of  affairs 
in  certain  parts  of  the  field  that  1  visited.  Plucky  or  con 
scientious  fellows  would  join  their  comrades  in  the  fight 
without  caring  what  regiment  they  acted  with;  but  the  ma 
jority  of  the  great  disorganized  mass  did  what  they  pleased, 
after  the  manner  of  a  country  fair,  crowding  in  all  instances 
around  places  where  water  could  be  obtained.  Great  num 
bers  had  thrown  away  their  canteens  and  provisions,  as  too 
heavy  to  carry  in  the  heat,  or  as  impediments  in  action. 
Officers  and  men  were  mixed  up  promiscuously,  hobnob 
bing  and  chaffing  in  a  languid  way,  and  talking  over  their 
experiences,  as  if  they  were  neighbors  at  home.  The  most 
wonderful  part  of  it  all  was  that  they  had  no  sense  of  their 
danger  and  of  the  destruction  they  were  inviting  by  their 
unsoldierly  course. 

"1  tried  to  impress  these  dangers  on  one  or  two,  but  the 
reply  was,  'Oh,  hang  it!  The  Rebs  are  as  badly  used  up 
as  we  are.  Don't  you  see  things  are  growing  more  quiet  ? 
Give  us  a  rest!' 

"By  this  time  I  had  worked  my  way  well  to  my  right, 


186  BIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

and  was  on  a  little  eminence  watching  our  line  advance, 
wondering  at  the  spirit  with  which  the  fight  was  still  main 
tained.  Indeed,  I  grew  hopeful  once  more  as  I  saw  the 
good  work  that  the  regiments  still  intact  were  doing. 
There  was  much  truth  in  the  remark  that  the  Eebels  were 
used  up  also,  unless  they  had  reserves  of  which  we  knew 
nothing.  At  that  time  we  had  no  idea  that  we  had  been 
fighting,  not  only  Beauregard,  but  also  Johnson  from  the 
Shenandoah. 

"My  hope  was  exceedingly  intensified  by  the  appear 
ance  of  a  long  line  of  troops  emerging  from  the  woods  on 
our  flank  and  rear,  for  I  never  dreamed  that  they  could  be 
other  than  our  own  re- enforcements.  Suddenly  I  caught 
sight  of  a  flag  which  I  had  learned  to  know  too  well.  The 
line  halted  a  moment,  muskets  were  levelled,  and  I  found 
myself  in  a  perfect  storm  of  bullets.  I  assure  you  I  made  a 
rapid  change  of  base,  for  when  our  line  turned  I  should  be 
between  two  fires.  As  it  was,  I  was  cut  twice  in  this  arm 
while  galloping  away.  In  a  few  moments  a  battery  also 
opened  upon  our  flank;  and  it  became  as  certain  as  day 
that  a  large  Confederate  force  from  some  quarter  had  been 
hurled  upon  the  flank  and  rear  of  our  exhausted  forces. 
The  belief  that  Johnson's  army  had  arrived  spread  like 
wildfire.  How  absurd  and  crude  it  all  seems  now!  We 
had  been  fighting  Johnson  from  the  first. 

"All  aggressive  action  on  our  part  now  ceased;  and  as  if 
governed  by  one  common  impulse,  the  army  began  its  retreat. 

"Try  to  realize  it.  Our  retirement  was  not  ordered. 
There  were  thousands  to  whom  no  order  could  be  given 
unless  with  a  voice  like  a  thunder  peal.  Indeed,  one  may 
say,  the  order  was  given  by  the  thunder  of  that  battery  on 
our  flank.  It  was  heard  throughout  the  field;  and  the 
army,  acting  as  individuals  or  in  detachments,  decided  to 
leave.  To  show  how  utterly  bereft  of  guidance,  control, 
and  judgment  were  our  forces,  I  have  merely  to  say  that 
each  man  started  back  by  exactly  the  same  route  he  had 
come,  just  as  a  horse  would  do,  while  right  before  them 


THE   LOGIC    OF   EVENTS  187 

was  the  Warrenton  Pike,  a  good,  straight  road  direct  to 
Centerville,  which  was  distant  but  little  over  four  miles. 

"This  disorganized,  exhausted  mob  was  as  truly  in  just 
the  fatal  condition  for  the  awful  contagion  we  call  'panic' 
as  it  would  have  been  from  improper  food  and  other  causes, 
for  some  other  epidemic.  The  Greeks,  who  always  had  a 
reason  for  everything,  ascribed  the  nameless  dread,  the  sud 
den  and  unaccountable  fear,  which  bereaves  men  of  man 
hood  and  reason,  to  the  presence  of  a  god.  It  is  simply  a 
latent  human  weakness,  which  certain  conditions  rarely  fail 
to  develop.  They  were  all  present  at  the  close  of  that  fatal 
day.  I  tell  you  frankly  that  I  felt  something  of  it  myself, 
and  at  a  time,  too,  when  i  knew  I  was  not  in  the  least  im 
mediate  danger.  To  counteract  it  I  turned  and  rode  delib 
erately  toward  the  enemy,  and  the  emotion  passed.  I  half 
believe,  however,  that  if  I  had  yielded,  it  would  have  car 
ried  me  away  like  an  attack  of  the  plague.  The  moral  of  it 
all  is,  that  the  conditions  of  the  disease  should  be  guarded 
against, 

"When  it  became  evident  that  the  army  was  uncontrol 
lable  and  was  leaving  the  field,  I  pressed  my  way  to  the  vi 
cinity  of  McDowell  to  see  what  he  would  do.  What  could 
he  do?  I  never  saw  a  man  so  overwhelmed  with  astonish 
ment  and  anger.  Almost  to  the  last  I  believe  he  expected 
to  win  the  day.  He  and  his  officers  commanded,  stormed, 
entreated.  He  might  as  well  have  tried  to  stop  Niagara 
above  the  falls  as  that  human  tide.  He  sent  orders  in  all 
directions  for  a  general  concentration  at  Centerville,  and 
then  with  certain  of  his  staff  galloped  away.  1  tried  to 
follow,  but  was  prevented  by  the  interposing  crowd. 

"I  then  joined  a  detachment  of  regulars  and  marines, 
who  marched  quietly  in  prompt  obedience  of  orders;  and 
we  made  our  way  through  the  disorder  like  a  steamer 
through  the  surging  waves.  All  the  treatises  on  discipline 
that  were  ever  written  would  not  have  been  so  convincing 
as  that  little  oasis  of  organization,  They  marched  very 
slowly,  and  often  halted  to  cover  the  retreat. 


188  HIS    SOMBRE   RIVALS 

"I  had  now  seen  enough  on  the  further  bank  of  Bull 
Run,  and  resolved  to  push  ahead  as  fast  as  my  horse  would 
walk  to  the  eastern  side,  Moreover,  my  leg  and  wounds 
were  becoming  painful,  and  I  was  exceedingly  weary.  I 
naturally  followed  the  route  taken  by  Tyler's  command  in 
coming  upon  and  returning  from  the  field,  and  crossed  Bull 
Run  some  distance  above  the  Stone  Bridge.  The  way  was 
so  impeded  by  fugitives  that  my  progress  was  slow,  but 
when  I  at  last  reached  the  Warrenton  Turnpike  and  pro 
ceeded  toward  a  wretched  little  stream  called  Cub  Run,  I 
witnessed  a  scene  that  beggars  description. 

"Throughout  the  entire  day,  and  especially  in  the  after 
noon,  vehicles  of  every  description — supply  wagons,  ambu 
lances,  and  the  carriages  of  civilians— had  been  congregat 
ing  in  the  Pike  vicinity  of  Stone  Bridge.  When  the  news 
of  the  defeat  reached  this  point,  and  the  roar  of  cannon  and 
musketry  began  to  approach  instead  of  recede,  a  general 
movement  toward  Centerville  began.  This  soon  degener 
ated  into  the  wildest  panic,  and  the  road  was  speedily 
choked  by  storming,  cursing,  terror-stricken  men,  who  in 
their  furious  haste,  defeated  their  own  efiorts  to  escape.  It 
was  pitiful,  it  was  shameful,  to  see  ambulances  full  of  the 
wounded  shoved  to  one  side  and  left  by  the  cowardly 
thieves  who  had  galloped  away  on  the  horses.  It  was 
one  long  scene  of  wreck  and  ruin,  through  which  pressed 
a  struggling,  sweating,  cursing  throng.  Horses  with  their 
traces  cut,  and  carrying  two  and  even  three  men,  were  urged 
on  and  over  everybody  that  could  not  get  out  of  the  way. 
Everything  was  abandoned  that  would  impede  progress,  and 
arms  and  property  of  all  kinds  were  left  as  a  rich  harvest 
for  the  pursuing  Confederates.  Their  cavalry,  hovering 
near,  like  hawks  eager  for  the  prey,  made  dashes  here  and 
there,  as  opportunity  offered. 

"I  picked  my  way  through  the  woods  rather  than  take 
my  chances  in  the  road,  and  so  my  progress  was  slow.  To 
make  matters  tenfold  worse,  I  found  when  I  reached  the 
road  leading  to  the  north  through  the  'Big  Woods'  that 


THE   LOGIC    OF   EVENTS  189 

khe  head  of  the  column  that  had  come  all  the  way  around 
by  Sudley's  Ford,  the  route  of  the  morning  march,  was 
singling  with  the  masses  already  thronging  the  Pike. 
The  confusion,  the  selfish,  remorseless  scramble  to  get 
ahead,  seemed  as  horrible  as  it  could  be;  but  imagine  the 
condition  of  affairs  when  on  reaching  the  vicinity  of  Cub 
Run  we  found  that  a  Rebel  battery  had  opened  upon  the 
bridge,  our  only  visible  means  of  crossing.  A  few  mo 
ments  later,  from  a  little  eminence,  I  saw  a  shot  take  effect 
on  a  team  of  horses;  and  a  heavy  caisson  was  overturned  di 
rectly  in  the  centre  of  the  bridge,  barring  all  advance,  while 
the  mass  of  soldiers,  civilians,  and  nondescript  army  follow 
ers,  thus  detained  under  fire,  became  perfectly  wild  with 
terror.  The  caisson  was  soon  removed,  and  the  throng 
rushed  on. 

"I  had  become  so  heart-sick,  disgusted,  and  weary  of  the 
whole  thing,  that  my  one  impulse  was  to  reach  Centerville, 
where  I  supposed  we  should  make  a  stand.  As  I  was  on 
the  north  side  of  the  Pike,  I  skirted  up  the  stream  with  a 
number  of  others  until  we  found  a  place  where  we  could 
scramble  across,  and  soon  after  we  passed  within  a  brigade 
of  our  troops  that  were  thrown  across  the  road  to  check  the 
probable  pursuit  of  the  enemy. 

"On  reaching  Centerville,  we  found  everything  in  the 
direst  confusion.  Colonel  Miles,  who  com  anded  the  re 
serves  at  that  point,  was  unfit  for  the  position,  and  had 
given  orders  that  had  imperilled  the  entire  army.  It  was 
said  that  the  troops  which  had  come  around  by  Sudley's 
ford  had  lost  all  their  guns  at  Cub  Run;  and  the  fugitives 
arriving  were  demoralized  to  the  last  degree.  Indeed,  a 
large  part  of  the  army,  without  waiting  for  orders  or  pay 
ing  heed  to  any  one,  continued  their  flight  toward  Wash 
ington.  Holding  the  bridle  of  my  horse,  I  lay  down  near 
headquarters  to  rest  and  to  learn  what  would  be  done.  A 
council  of  war  was  held,  and  as  the  result  we  were  soon  on 
the  retreat  again.  The  retreat,  or  panic-stricken  flight  rather, 
had,  in  fact,  never  ceased  on  the  part  of  most  of  those  who 


190  HIS   SOMBRE    RIVALS 

had  been  in  the  main  battle.  That  they  could  keep  up  this 
desperate  tramp  was  a  remarkable  example  of  human  endur 
ance  when  sustained  by  excitement,  fear,  or  any  strong  emo 
tion.  The  men  who  marched  or  fled  on  Sunday  night  had 
already  been  on  their  feet  twenty- four  hours,  and  the  greater 
part  of  them  had  experienced  the  terrific  strain  of  actual  battle. 

"My  story  has  already  been  much  too  long.  From  the 
daily  journals  you  have  learned  pretty  accurately  what  oc 
curred  after  we  reached  Centerville.  Richardson's  and 
Blenker's  brigades  made  a  quiet  and  orderly  retreat  when 
all  danger  to  the  main  body  was  over.  The  sick  and  wounded 
were  left  behind  with  spoils  enough  to  equip  a  good-sized 
Confederate  army.  I  followed  the  headquarters  escort,  and 
eventually  made  my  way  into  Washington  in  the  drenching 
rain  of  Monday,  and  found  the  city  crowded  with  fugitives 
to  whom  the  loyal  people  were  extending  unbounded  hos 
pitality.  I  felt  ill  and  feverish,  and  yielded  to  the  impulse 
to  reach  home;  and  I  never  acted  more  wisely. 

"Now  you  have  the  history  of  my  first  battle;  and  may 
I  never  see  one  like  it  again.  And  yet  I  believe  the  battle 
of  Bull  Bun  will  become  one  of  the  most  interesting  studies 
of  American  history  and  character.  On  our  side  it  was  not 
directed  by  generals,  according  to  the  rules  of  war.  It  was 
fought  by  Northern  men  after  their  own  fashion  and  accord 
ing  to  their  native  genius;  and  I  shall  ever  maintain  that  it 
was  fought  far  better  than  could  have  been  expected  of  mili 
tia  who  knew  less  of  the  practical  science  of  war  than  of  the 
philosophy  of  Plato. 

"The  moral  of  my  story,  Hilland,  scarcely  needs  point 
ing;  and  it  applies  to  us  both.  When  we  go,  let  us  go  as 
soldiers;  and  if  we  have  only  a  corporal's  command,  let  us 
lead  soldiers.  The  grand  Northern  onset  of  which  you  have 
dreamed  so  long  has  been  made.  You  have  seen  the  result. 
You  have  the  means  and  ability  to  equip  and  command  a 
regiment.  Infuse  into  it  your  own  spirit;  and  at  the  same 
time  make  it  a  machine  that  will  hold  together  as  long  as 
you  have  a  man  left." 


THE    LOGIC    OF   EVENTS  191 

"Graham,"  said  Hilland,  slowly  and  deliberately,  "there 
is  no  resisting  the  logic  of  events.  You  have  convinced  me 
of  my  error,  and  I  shall  follow  your  advice." 

"And,  Grace, "  concluded  Graham,  "believe  me,  by  so 
doing  he  adds  tenfold  to  his  chances  of  living  to  a  good  old 
age." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  looking  at  him  gratefully  through  tear- 
dimmed  eyes.  "You  have  convinced  me  of  that  also." 

"Instead  of  rushing  off  to  some  out-of-the-way  place  or 
camp,  he  must  spend  months  in  recruiting  and  drilling  his 
men;  and  you  can  be  with  him." 

"Oh,  Alford!"  she  exclaimed,  "is  that  the  heavenly 
logic  of  your  long,  terrible  story  ?' ' 

"It's  the  rational  logic;  you  could  not  expect  any  other 
kind  from  me." 

"Well,  Graham,"  ejaculated  the  major,  with  a  long  sigh 
of  relief,  "I  wouldn't  have  missed  your  account  of  the  bat 
tle  for  a  year's  pay.  And  mark  my  words,  young  men,  you 
may  not  live  to  see  it,  or  I  either,  but  the  North  will  win  in 
this  fight.  That's  the  fact  that  I'm  convinced  of  in  spite  of 
the  panic." 

"The  fact  that  I'm  convinced  of,"  said  Mrs.  May  burn 
brusquely,  mopping  her  eyes  meanwhile,  "is  that  Alford 
needs  rest.  I'm  going  to  take  him  home  at  once."  And 
the  young  man  seconded  her  in  spite  of  all  protestations. 

"Dear,  vigilant  old  aunty,"  said  Graham,  when  they 
were  alone,  "you  know  when  I  have  reached  the  limit  of 
endurance." 

"Ah!  Alford,  Alford,"  moaned  the  poor  woman,  "I 
fear  you  are  seeking  death  in  this  war." 

He  looked  at  her  tenderly  for  a  moment,  and  then  said, 
"Hereafter  I  will  try  to  take  no  greater  risks  than  a  sol 
dier's  duties  require." 


192  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 


CHAPTER    XXII 

SELF-SENTENCED 

DAYS,  weeks,  and  months  with  their  changes  came 
and  went.  Hilland,  with  characteristic  promptness, 
carried  out  his  friend's  suggestion;  and  through  his 
own  means  and  personal  efforts,  in  great  measure,  recruited 
and  equipped  a  regiment  of  cavalry,  fle  was  eager  that  his 
friend  should  take  a  command  in  it;  but  Graham  firmly 
refused. 

"Our  relations  are  too  intimate  for  discipline,"  he  said. 
"We  might  be  placed  in  situations  wherein  our  friendship 
would  embarrass  us." 

Grace  surmised  that  he  had  another  reason;  for,  as  time 
passed,  she  saw  less  and  less  of  him.  He  had  promptly  ob 
tained  a  lieutenancy  in  a  regiment  that  was  being  recruited 
at  Washington;  and  by  the  time  her  husband's  regiment 
reached  that  city,  the  more  disciplined  organization  to 
which  Graham  was  attached  was  ordered  out  on  the  Vir 
ginia  picket  line  beyond  Arlington  Heights. 

Hilland,  with  characteristic  modesty,  would  not  take  the 
colonelcy  of  the  regiment  that  he  chiefly  had  raised;  but 
secured  for  the  place  a  fine  officer  of  the  regular  army,  and 
contented  himself  with  a  captaincy.  "Efficiency  of  the 
service  is  what  I  am  aiming  at,"  he  said.  "I  would  much 
rather  rise  by  merit  from  the  ranks  than  command  a  brigade 
by  favor." 

Unlike  many  men  of  wealth,  he  had  a  noble  repugnance 
to  taking  any  public  advantage  of  it;  and  the  numerous 


SELF-SENTENCED  193 

officers  of  the  time  that  had  obtained  their  positions  by  in 
fluence  were  his  detestation. 

Graham's  predictions  in  regard  to  Grace  were  fulfilled. 
For  long  months  she  saw  her  husband  almost  daily,  and, 
had  it  not  been  for  the  cloud  that  hung  over  the  future,  it 
would  have  been  one  of  the  happiest  periods  of  her  life. 
She  saw  Hilland  engaged  in  tasks  that  brought  him  a  deep 
and  growing  satisfaction.  She  saw  her  father  in  his  very 
element.  There  were  no  more  days  of  dulness  and  weari 
ness  for  him.  The  daily  journals  teemed  with  subjects  of 
interest,  and  with  their  aid  he  planned  innumerable  cam 
paigns.  Military  men  were  coming  and  going,  and  with 
these  young  officers  the  veteran  was  an  oracle.  He  gave 
Hilland  much  shrewd  advice;  and  even  when  it  was  not 
good,  it  was  listened  to  with  deference,  and  so  the  result 
was  just  as  agreeable  to  the  major. 

W  hat  sweeter  joy  is  there  for  the  aged  than  to  sit  in  the 
seat  of  judgment  and  counsel,  and  feel  that  the  world  would 
go  awry  were  it  not  for  the  guidance  and  aid  of  their  ex 
perience!  Alas  for  the  poor  old  major,  and  those  like  himl 
The  world  does  not  grow  old  as  they  do.  It  only  changes 
and  becomes  more  vast  and  complicated.  What  was  wisest 
and  best  in  their  day  becomes  often  as  antiquated  as  the 
culverin  that  once  defended  castellated  ramparts. 

Happily  the  major  had  as  yet  no  suspicion  of  this;  and 
when  he  and  Grace  accompanied  Hilland  and  his  regiment 
to  Washington,  the  measure  of  his  content  was  full.  There 
he  could  daily  meet  other  veterans  of  the  regular  service; 
and  in  listening  to  their  talk,  one  might  imagine  that  Me- 
Clellan  had  only  to  attend  their  sittings  to  learn  how  to 
subdue  the  rebellion  within  a  few  months.  These  veterans 
were  not  bitter  partisans.  General  Robert  E.  Lee  was  ' '  Bob 
Lee"  to  them;  and  the  other  chiefs  of  the  Confederacy  were 
spoken  of  by  some  familiar  sobriquet,  acquired  in  many  in 
stances  when  boys  at  West  Point  They  would  have  fought 
these  old  friends  and  acquaintances  to  the  bitter  end,  ac 
cording  to  the  tactics  of  the  old  school;  but  after  the  battle, 
I— ROE— XIII 


194  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

those  that  survived  would  have  hobnobbed  together  over 
a  bottle  of  wine  as  sociably  as  if  they  had  been  companions 
in  arms. 

Mrs.  Mayburn  accompanied  the  major's  party  to  Wash 
ington,  for,  as  she  said,  she  was  "hungry  for  a  sight  of  her 
boy."  As  often  as  his  duties  permitted,  Graham  rode  in 
from  the  front  to  see  her.  But  it  began  to  be  noticed  that 
after  these  visits  he  ever  sought  some  perilous  duty  on  the 
picket  line,  or  engaged  in  some  dash  at  the  enemy  or 
guerillas  in  the  vicinity.  He  could  not  visit  his  aunt  with 
out  seeing  Grace,  whose  tones  were  now  so  gentle  when  she 
spoke  to  him,  and  so  full  of  her  heart's  deep  gratitude,  that 
a  renewal  of  his  old  fierce  fever  of  unrest  was  the  result. 
He  was  already  gaining  a  reputation  for  extreme  daring, 
combined  with  unusual  coolness  and  vigilance;  and  before 
the  campaign  of  '62  opened  he  had  been  promoted  to  a  first 
lieutenancy. 

Time  passed;  the  angry  torrent  of  the  war  broadened 
and  deepened.  Men  and  measures  that  had  stood  out  like 
landmarks  were  engulfed  and  forgotten. 

It  goes  without  saying  that  the  friends  did  their  duty 
in  camp  and  field.  There  were  no  more  panics.  The  great 
organizer,  McClellan,  had  made  soldiers  of  the  vast  army; 
and  had  he  been  retained  in  the  service  as  the  creator  of 
armies  for  other  men  to  lead,  his  labors  would  have  been 
invaluable. 

At  last,  to  the  deep  satisfaction  of  Graham  and  flilland, 
their  regiments  were  brigaded  together,  and  they  frequently 
met.  It  was  then  near  the  close  of  the  active  operations  of 
'62,  and  the  friends  now  ranked  as  Captain  Graham  and 
Major  Hilland.  Notwithstanding  the  reverses  suffered  by 
the  Union  arms,  the  young  men's  confidence  was  unabated 
as  to  the  final  issue.  Hilland  had  passed  through  several 
severe  conflicts,  and  his  name  had  been  mentioned  by 
reason  of  his  gallantry.  Grace  began  to  feel  that  fate  could 
never  be  so  cruel  as  to  destroy  her  very  life  in  his  life.  She 
saw  that  her  father  exulted  more  over  her  husband's  sol- 


SELF-SENTENCED  195 

dierly  qualities  than  in  all  his  wealth;  and  although  they 
spent  the  summer  season  as  usual  at  the  seaside  with  Mrs. 
May  burn,  the  hearts  of  all  three  were  following  two  regi 
ments  through  the  forests  and  fields  of  Virginia.  Half  a 
score  of  journals  were  daily  searched  for  items  concerning 
them,  and  the  arrival  of  the  mails  was  the  event  of  the  day. 

There  came  a  letter  in  the  autumn  which  filled  the  heart 
of  Grace  with  immeasurable  joy  and  very,  very  deep  sad 
ness.  Mrs.  May  burn  was  stricken  to  the  heart,  and  would 
not  be  comforted,  while  the  old  major  swore  and  blessed 
God  by  turns. 

The  cause  was  this.  The  brigade  with  which  the  friends 
were  connected  was  sent  on  a  reconnaissance,  and  they  felt 
the  enemy  strongly  before  retiring,  which  at  last  they  were 
compelled  to  do  precipitately.  It  so  happened  that  Hilland 
commanded  the  rear-guard.  In  an  advance  he  ever  led;  on 
a  retreat  he  was  apt  to  keep  well  to  the  rear.  In  the  present 
instance  the  pursuit  had  been  prompt  and  determined,  and 
he  had  been  compelled  to  make  more  than  one  repelling 
charge  to  prevent  the  retiring  column  from  being  pressed 
too  hard.  His  command  had  thus  lost  heavily,  and  at  last 
overwhelming  numbers  drove  them  back  at  a  gallop. 

Graham,  in  the  rear  of  the  main  column,  which  had  just 
crossed  a  small  wooden  bridge  over  a  wide  ditch  or  little 
run  through  the  fields,  saw  the  headlong  retreat  of  Hilland's 
men,  and  he  instantly  deployed  his  company  that  he  might 
check  the  close  pursuit  by  a  volley.  As  the  Union  troopers 
neared  the  bridge  it  was  evidently  a  race  for  life  and  liberty, 
for  they  were  outnumbered  ten  to  one.  In  a  few  moments 
they  tyegan  to  pour  over,  but  Hilland  did  not  lead.  They 
were  nearly  all  across,  but  their  commander  was  not  among 
them;  and  Graham  was  wild  with  anxiety  as  he  sat  on  his 
horse  at  the  right  of  his  line  waiting  to  give  the  order  to 
fire.  Suddenly,  in  the  failing  light  of  the  evening,  he  saw 
Hilland  with  his  right  arm  hanging  helpless,  spurring  a 
horse  badly  blown;  while  gaining  fast  upon  him  were  four 
savage- looking  Confederates,  their  sabres  emitting  a  steely, 


196  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

deadly  sheen,  and  uplifted  to  strike  the  moment  they  could 
reach  him. 

With  the  rapidity  of  light,  Graham's  eye  measured  the 
distance  between  his  friend  and  the  bridge,  and  his  instan 
taneous  conviction  was  that  Hilland  was  doomed,  for  he 
could  not  order  a  volley  without  killing  him  almost  to  a 
certainty.  At  that  supreme  crisis,  the  suggestion  passed 
through  his  mind  like  a  lurid  flash,  "In  a  few  moments 
Hilland  will  be  dead,  and  Grace  may  yet  be  mine." 

Then,  like  an  avenging  demon,  the  thought  confronted 
him.  He  saw  it  in  its  true  aspect,  and  in  an  outburst  of 
self-accusing  fury  he  passed  the  death  sentence  on  himself. 
Snatching  out  the  long,  straight  sword  he  carried,  he  struck 
with  the  spur  the  noble  horse  he  bestrode,  gave  him  the 
rein,  and  made  straight  for  the  deep,  wide  ditch.  There 
was  no  time  to  go  around  by  the  bridge,  which  was  still 
impeded  by  the  last  of  the  fugitives. 

His  men  held  their  breath  as  they  saw  his  purpose.  The 
feat  seemed  impossible;  but  as  his  steed  cleared  the  chasm 
by  a  magnificent  bound,  a  loud  cheer  rang  down  the  line. 
The  next  moment  Hilland,  who  had  mentally  said  farewell 
to  his  wife,  saw  Graham  passing  him  like  a  thunderbolt. 
There  was  an  immediate  clash  of  steel,  and  then  the  fore 
most  pursuer  was  down,  cleft  to  the  jaw.  The  next  shared 
the  same  fate;  for  Graham,  in  what  he  deemed  his  death 
struggle,  had  almost  ceased  to  be  human.  His  spirit,  stung 
to  a  fury  that  it  had  never  known  and  would  never  know 
again,  blazed  in  his  eyes  and  flashed  in  the  lightning  play 
of  his  sword.  The  two  others  pursuers  reined  up  their  steeds 
and  sought  to  attack  him  on  either  side.  He  threw  his  own 
horse  back  almost  upon  his  haunches,  and  was  on  his  guard, 
meaning  to  strike  home  the  moment  the  fence  of  his  op 
ponents  permitted.  At  this  instant,  however,  there  were 
a  dozen  shots  from  the  swarming  Eebels,  that  were  almost 
upon  him,  and  he  and  his  horse  were  seen  to  fall  to  the 
ground.  Meantime  Hilland  had  instinctively  tried  to  rein 
in  his  horse,  that  he  might  return  to  the  help  of  his  friend, 


SELF-SENTENCED  197 

although  from  his  wound  he  could  render  no  aid.  Some  of 
his  own  men  who  had  crossed  the  bridge,  and  in  a  sense 
of  safety  had  regained  their  wits,  saw  his  purpose,  and 
dashing  back,  they  formed  a  body-guard  around  him,  and 
dragged  his  horse  swiftly  beyond  the  line  of  battle. 

A  yell  of  anger  accompanied  by  a  volley  came  from 
Graham's  men  that  he  had  left  in  line,  and  a  dozen  Con 
federate  saddles  were  emptied;  but  their  return  fire  was  so 
deadly,  and  their  numbers  were  so  overwhelming,  that  the 
officer  next  in  command  ordered  retreat  at  a  gallop.  Hilland, 
in  his  anguish,  would  not  have  left  his  friend  had  not  his 
men  grasped  his  rein  and  carried  him  off  almost  by  force. 
Meanwhile  the  darkness  set  in  so  rapidly  that  the  pursuit 
soon  slackened  and  ceased. 

During  the  remainder  of  the  ride  back  to  their  camp, 
which  was  reached  late  at  night,  the  ardent- natured  Hilland 
was  almost  demented.  He  wept,  raved,  and  swore.  He 
called  himself  an  accursed  coward,  that  he  had  left  the 
friend  who  had  saved  his  life.  His  broken  arm  was  as 
nothing  to  him,  and  eventually  the  regimental  surgeon 
had  to  administer  strong  opiates  to  quiet  him. 

When  late  the  next  day  he  awoke,  it  all  came  back  to 
him  with  a  dully  heavy  ache  at  heart.  Nothing  could  be 
done.  His  mind,  now  restored  to  its  balance,  recognized 
the  fact.  The  brigade  was  under  orders  to  move  to  another 
point,  and  he  was  disabled  and  compelled  to  take  a  leave 
of  absence  until  fit  for  duty.  The  inexorable  mechanism  of 
military  life  moves  on,  without  the  slightest  regard  for  the 
individual;  and  Graham's  act  was  only  one  of  the  many 
heroic  deeds  of  the  war,  some  seen  and  more  unnoted. 


198  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

AN   EARLY   DREAM   FULFILLED 

A  FEW  days  later  Grace  welcomed  her  husband  with 
a  long,  close  embrace,  but  with  streaming  eyes; 
while  he  bowed  his  head  upon  her  shoulder  and 
groaned  in  the  bitterness  of  his  spirit. 

"Next  to  losing  you,  Grace,"  he  said,  "this  is  the  heavi 
est  blow  I  could  receive;  and  to  think  that  he  gave  his  life 
for  me!  How  can  I  ever  face  Mrs.  May  burn?  " 

But  his  wife  comforted  him  as  only  she  knew  how  to 
soothe  and  bless;  and  Mrs.  May  burn  saw  that  he  was  as 
sincere  a  mourner  as  herself.  Moreover  they  would  not 
despair  of  Graham,  for  although  he  had  been  seen  to  fall, 
he  might  only  have  been  wounded  and  made  a  prisoner. 
Thus  the  bitterness  of  their  grief  was  mitigated  by  hope. 

This  hope  was  fulfilled  in  a  most  unexpected  way,  by  a 
cheerful  letter  from  Graham  himself;  and  the  explanation 
of  this  fact  requires  that  the  story  should  return  to  him. 

He  thought  that  the  sentence  of  death  which  he  had 
passed  upon  himself  had  been  carried  into  effect.  He  had 
felt  himself  falling,  and  then  there  had  been  sudden  dark 
ness.  Like  a  dim  taper  flickering  in  the  night,  the  spark  of 
life  began  to  kindle  again.  At  first  he  was  conscious  of  but 
one  truth — that  he  was  not  dead.  Where  he  now  was,  in 
this  world  or  some  other,  what  he  now  was,  he  did  not 
know ;  but  the  essential  ego,  Alf ord  Graham,  had  not  ceased 
to  exist.  The  fact  filled  him  with  a  dull,  wondering  awe. 
Memory  slowly  revived,  and  its  last  impression  was  that  he 
was  to  die  and  had  died,  and  yet  he  was  not  dead. 


AN   EARLY    DEE  AM    FULFILLED  199 

As  a  man's  characteristic  traits  will  first  assert  them 
selves,  he  lay  still  and  feebly  tried  to  comprehend  it  all. 
Suddenly  a  strange,  horrid  sound  smote  upon  his  senses 
and  froze  his  blood  with  dread.  It  must  be  life  after  death, 
for  only  his  mind  appeared  to  have  any  existence.  He  could 
not  move.  Again  the  unearthly  sound,  which  could  not  be 
a  human  shriek,  was  repeated;  and  by  half-involuntary  and 
desperate  effort  he  started  up  and  looked  around.  The  scene 
at  first  was  obscure,  confused,  and  awful.  His  eye  could 
not  explain  it,  and  he  instinctively  stretched  out  his  hands; 
and  through  the  sense  of  touch  all  that  had  happened  came 
back  to  his  confused  brain.  He  first  felt  of  himself,  passed 
his  hand  over  his  forehead,  his  body,  his  limbs:  he  cer 
tainly  was  in  the  flesh,  and  that  to  his  awakening  intelli 
gence  meant  much,  since  it  accorded  with  his  belief  that 
life  and  the  body  were  inseparable.  Then  he  felt  around 
him  in  the  darkness,  and  his  hands  touched  the  grassy 
field.  This  fact  righted  him  speedily.  As  in  the  old 
fable,  when  he  touched  the  earth  he  was  strong.  He  next 
noted  that  his  head  rested  on  a  smooth  rock  that  rose  but 
little  above  the  plain,  and  that  he  must  have  fallen  upon  it. 
He  sat  up  and  looked  around;  and  as  the  brain  gradually 
resumed  its  action  after  its  terrible  shock,  the  situation  be 
came  intelligible.  The  awful  sounds  that  he  had  heard 
came  from  a  wounded  horse  that  was  struggling  feebly  in 
the  light  of  the  rising  moon,  now  in  her  last  quarter.  He 
was  upon  the  scene  of  last  evening's  conflict,  and  the  ob 
scure  objects  that  lay  about  him  were  the  bodies  of  the 
dead.  Yes,  there  before  him  were  the  two  men  he  had 
killed;  and  their  presence  brought  such  a  strong  sense  of 
repugnance  and  horror  that  he  sprang  to  his  feet  and  re 
coiled  away. 

He  looked  around.  There  was  not  a  living  object  in 
sight  except  the  dying  horse.  The  night  wind  moaned 
about  him,  and  soughed  and  sighed  as  if  it  were  a  living 
creature  mourning  over  the  scene. 

It  became  clear  to  him  that  he  had  been  left  as  dead. 


200  HIS    SOMBRE   RIVALS 

Yes,  and  he  had  been  robbed,  too;  for  he  shivered,  and 
found  that  his  coat  and  vest  were  gone,  also  his  hat,  his 
money,  his  watch,  and  his  boots.  He  walked  unsteadily  to 
the  little  bridge,  and  where  he  had  left  his  line  of  faithful 
men,  all  was  dark  and  silent.  With  a  great  throb  of  joy  he 
remembered  that  Hilland  must  have  sped  across  that  bridge 
to  safety,  while  he  had  expiated  his  evil  thought, 

He  then  returned  and  circled  around  the  place.  He  was 
evidently  alone;  but  the  surmise  occurred  to  him  that  the 
Confederates  would  return  in  the  morning  to  bury  their 
dead,  and  if  he  would  escape  he  must  act  promptly.  And 
yet  he  could  not  travel  in  his  present  condition.  He  must 
at  least  have  hat,  coat,  and  boots.  His  only  resource  was 
to  take  them  from  the  dead;  but  the  thought  of  doing  so 
was  horrible  to  him.  Eeason  about  it  as  he  might,  he  drew 
near  their  silent  forms  with  an  uncontrollable  repugnance. 
He  almost  gave  up  his  purpose,  and  took  a  few  hasty  steps 
away,  but  a  thorn  pierced  his  foot  and  taught  him  his  folly. 
Then  his  imperious  will  asserted  itself,  and  with  an  impreca 
tion  on  his  weakness  he  returned  to  the  nearest  silent  form, 
and  took  from  it  a  limp  felt  hat,  a  coat,  and  a  pair  of  boots, 
all  much  the  worse  for  wear;  and  having  arrayed  himself  in 
these,  started  on  the  trail  of  the  Union  force. 

He  had  not  gone  over  a  mile  when,  on  surmounting  an 
eminence,  he  saw  by  dying  fires  in  a  grove  beneath  him 
that  he  was  near  the  bivouac  of  a  body  of  soldiers.  He 
hardly  hoped  they  could  be  a  detachment  of  Onion  men; 
and  yet  the  thought  that  it  was  possible  led  him  to  ap 
proach  stealthily  within  earshot.  At  last  he  heard  one 
patrol  speak  to  another  in  unmistakable  Southern  accent, 
and  he  found  that  the  enemy  was  in  his  path. 

Silently  as  a  ghost  he  stole  away,  and  sought  to  make  a 
wide  detour  to  the  left,  but  soon  lost  himself  hopelessly  in 
a  thick  wood.  At  last,  wearied  beyond  mortal  endurance, 
he  crawled  into  what  seemed  the  obscurest  place  he  could 
find,  and  lay  down  and  slept. 

The  sun  was  above  the  horizon  when   he  awoke,  stiff, 


AN    EARLY    DEE  AM    FULFILLED  201 

sore,  and  hungry,  but  refreshed,  rested.  A  red  squirrel 
was  barking  at  him  derisively  from  a  bough  near,  but  no 
other  evidences  of  life  were  to  be  seen.  Sitting  up,  he  tried 
to  collect  his  thoughts  and  decide  upon  his  course.  It  at 
once  occurred  to  him  that  he  would  be  missed,  and  that 
pursuit  might  be  made  with  hounds.  At  once  he  sprang 
to  his  feet  and  made  his  way  toward  a  valley,  which  he 
hoped  would  be  drained  by  a  running  stream.  The  wel 
come  sound  of  water  soon  guided  him,  and  pushing  through 
the  underbrush  he  drank  long  and  deeply,  bathed  the  ugly 
bruise  on  his  head,  and  then  waded  up  Jhe  current. 

He  had  not  gone  much  over  half  a  mile  before  he  saw 
through  an  opening  a  negro  gazing  wondermgly  at  him. 
"Come  here,  my  good  fellow,"  he  cried. 

The  man  approached  slowly,  cautiously. 

"I  won't  hurt  you,"  Graham  resumed;  "indeed  you  can 
see  that  I'm  in  your  power.  Won't  you  help  me  ?" 

"Dunno,  mas'r, "  was  the  non-committal  reply. 

1 '  Are  you  in  favor  of  Lincoln's  men  or  the  Confederates  ?' ' 

"Dunno,  mas'r.     It  "pends." 

"It  depends  upon  what?" 

"On  whedder  you'se  a  Linkum  man  or  'Federate." 

"Well,  then,  here's  the  truth.  The  Lincoln  men  are 
your  best  friends,  if  you've  sense  enough  to  know  it;  and 
I'm  one  of  them.  I  was  in  the  fight  ofi  there  yesterday, 
and  am  trying  to  escape." 

"Oh  golly!  I'se  sense  enough;"  and  the  genial  gleam 
of  the  man's  ivory  was  an  omen  of  good  to  Graham.  "But," 
queried  the  negro,  "how  you  wear  'Federate  coat  and 
bat?" 

"Because  I  was  left  for  dead,  and  mine  were  stolen.  I 
had  to  wear  something.  The  Confederates  don't  wear  blue 
trousers  like  these." 

"Dat's  so;  an'  I  knows  yer  by  yer  talk  and  look.  I 
knows  a  'Federate  well  as  I  does  a  coon.  But  dese  yere's 
mighty  ticklish  times;  an'  a  nigger  hab  no  show  ef  he's 
foun'  meddlin'.  What's  yer  gwine  ter  do?" 


202  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

"Perhaps  you  can  advise  me.  I'm  afraid  they'll  put 
hounds  on  my  trail." 

"Dat  dey  will,  if  dey  misses  yer." 

"Well,  that's  the  reason  I'm  here  in  the  stream.  But  I 
can't  keep  this  up  long.  I'm  tired  and  hungry.  I've  heard 
that  you  people  befriended  Lincoln's  men.  We  are  going 
to  win,  and  now's  the  time  for  you  to  make  friends  with 
those  who  will  soon  own  this  country." 

"Ob  corse,  you'se  a-gwine  ter  win.  Linkum  is  de  Moses 
we're  all  a-lookin1  ter.  At  all  our  meetin's  we'se  a-prayin' 
for  him  and  to  him.  He's  de  Lord's  right  han'  to  lead  we 
alls  out  ob  bondage. n 

"Well,  I  swear  to  you  I'm  one  of  his  men." 

"I  knows  you  is,  and  I'se  a-gwine  to  help  you,  houn's 
or  no  houn's.  Keep  up  de  ran  a  right  smart  ways,  and 
you'se  '11  come  ter  a  big  flat  stun'.  Stan'  dar  in  de  water, 
an  I'll  be  dar  wid  help."  And  the  man  disappeared  in  a 
long  swinging  run. 

Graham  did  as  he  was  directed,  and  finally  reached  a  flat 
rock,  from  which  through  the  thick  bordering  growth  some 
thing  like  a  path  led  away.  He  waited  until  his  patience 
was  wellnigh  exhausted,  and  then  heard  far  back  upon  his 
trail  the  faint  bay  of  a  hound.  He  was  about  to  push  his 
way  on  up  the  stream,  when  there  was  a  sound  of  hasty 
steps,  and  his  late  acquaintance  with  another  stalwart  fel 
low  appeared. 

"Dere's  no  time  ter  lose,  mas'r.  Stan'  whar  you  is," 
and  in  a  moment  he  splashed  in  beside  him.  "Now  get  on 
my  back.  Jake  dar  will  spell  me  when  I  wants  him;  fer 
yer  feet  mustn't  touch  de  groun';"  and  away  they  went  up 
the  obscure  path. 

This  was  a  familiar  mode  of  locomotion  to  Graham,  for 
he  had  been  carried  thus  by  the  hour  over  the  mountain 
passes  of  Asia.  They  had  not  gone  far  before  they  met 
two  or  three  colored  women  with  a  basket  of  clothes. 

"Dat's  right,"  said  Graham's  conveyance;  "wash  away 
right  smart,  and  dunno  nothin'.  Yer  see,"  he  continued, 


AN   EARLY    DREAM    FULFILLED  203 

"dis  yer  is  Sunday,  and  we'se  not  in  de  fields,  an  de  women 
folks  can  help  us;"  and  Graham  thought  that  the  old  super 
stition  of  a  Sabbath  had  served  him  well  for  once. 

They  soon  left  the  path  and  entered  some  very  heavy 
timber,  through  an  opening  of  which  he  saw  the  negro 
quarters  and  plantation  dwellings  in  the  distance. 

At  last  they  stopped  before  an  immense  tree.  Some 
brush  was  pushed  aside,  revealing  an  aperture  through 
which  Graham  was  directed  to  crawl,  and  he  found  him 
self  within  a  heart  of  oak. 

"Dar's  room  enough  in  dar  ter  sit  down,"  said  his  sable 
friend.  "An7  you'se  '11  find  a  jug  ob  milk  an'  a  pone  ob 
corn  meal.  Luck  ter  yer.  Don't  git  lonesome  like  and 
come  out.  We'se  a-gwine  ter  look  arter  yer;"  and  the  open 
ing  was  hidden  by  brush  again,  and  Graham  was  left  alone. 

From  a  small  aperture  above  his  head  a  pencil  of  sun 
light  traversed  the  gloom,  to  which  his  eyes  soon  grew  ac 
customed,  and  he  saw  a  rude  seat  and  the  food  mentioned. 
By  extending  his  feet  slightly  through  the  opening  by  which 
he  had  entered,  he  found  the  seat  really  comfortable;  and 
the  coarse  fare  was  ambrosial  to  his  ravenous  appetite.  In 
deed,  he  began  to  enjoy  the  adventure.  His  place  of  con 
cealment  was  so  unexpected  and  ingenious  that  it  gave  him 
a  sense  of  security.  He  had  ever  had  a  great  love  for  trees, 
and  now  it  seemed  as  if  one  had  opened  its  very  heart  to 
hide  him. 

Then  his  hosts  and  defenders  interested  him  exceed 
ingly.  By  reason  of  residence  in  New  England  and  his  life 
abroad,  he  was  not  familiar  with  the  negro,  especially  his 
Southern  type.  Their  innocent  guile  and  preposterous  re 
ligious  belief  amused  him.  He  both  smiled  and  wondered 
at  their  faith  in  "Linkum,"  whom  at  that  time  he  regarded 
as  a  long-headed,  uncouth  Western  politician,  who  had 
done  not  a  little  mischief  by  interfering  with  the  army. 

"It  is  ever  so  with  all  kinds  of  superstition  and  senti 
mental  belief,"  he  soliloquized.  "Some  conception  of  the 
mind  is  embodied,  or  some  object  is  idealized  and  magnified 


204:  HIS    SOMBRE    RIVALS 

until  the  original  is  lost  sight  of,  and  men  come  to  worship 
a  mere  fancy  of  their  own.  Then  some  mind,  stronger  and 
more  imaginative  than  the  average,  gives  shape  and  form  to 
this  confused  image;  and  so  there  grows  in  time  a  belief,  a 
theology,  or  rather  a  mythology.  To  think  that  this  Lin 
coln,  whom  I've  seen  in  attitudes  anything  but  divine,  and 
telling  broad,  coarse  stories — to  think  that  he  should  be  a 
demigod,  antitype  of  the  venerated  Hebrew!  In  truth  it 
leads  one  to  suspect,  according  to  analogy,  that  Moses  was 
a  money-making  Jew,  and  his  effort  to  lead  his  people  to 
Palestine  an  extensive  land  speculation." 

Graham  lived  to  see  the  day  when  he  acknowledged  that 
the  poor  negroes  of  the  most  remote  plantations  had  a  truer 
conception  of  the  grand  proportions  of  Lincoln's  character 
at  that  time  than  the  majority  of  his  most  cultivated  coun 
trymen. 

His  abstract  speculations  were  speedily  brought  to  a 
close  by  the  nearer  baying  of  hounds  as  they  surmounted 
an  eminence  over  which  lay  his  trail.  On  came  the  hunt, 
with  its  echoes  rising  and  falling  with  the  wind  or  the  in 
equalities  of  the  ground,  until  it  burst  deep-mouthed  and 
hoarse  over  the  brow  of  the  hill  that  sloped  to  the  stream. 
Then  there  were  confused  sounds,  both  of  the  dogs  and  of 
men's  voices,  which  gradually  approached  until  there  was  a 
pause,  caused  undoubtedly  by  a  colloquy  with  Aunt  Sheba 
and  her  associate  washerwomen.  It  did  not  last  very  long; 
and  then,  to  Graham's  dismay,  the  threatening  sounds  were 
renewed,  and  seemed  coming  directly  toward  him.  He  soon 
gave  up  all  hope,  and  felt  that  he  had  merely  to  congratu 
late  himself  that,  from  the  nature  of  his  hiding-place,  he 
could  not  be  torn  by  the  dogs,  when  he.  perceived  that  the 
hunt  was  coming  no  nearer — in  brief,  that  it  was  passing. 
He  then  understood  that  his  refuge  must  be  near  the  bed 
of  the  stream,  from  which  his  pursuers  were  seeking  on 
either  side  his  diverging  trail.  This  fact  relieved  him  at 
once,  and  quietly  he  listened  to  the  sounds,  dying  away  as 
they  had  come. 


AN   EARLY  DREAM    FULFILLED  205 

As  the  sun  rose  higher  the  raj  of  light  sloped  downward 
until  it  disappeared;  and  in  the  profound  gloom  and  quiet 
he  fell  asleep,  fie  was  awaked  by  hearing  a  voice  call, 
"Mas'r." 

Looking  down,  he  saw  that  the  bwish  had  been  removed, 
and  that  the  opening  was  partially  obstructed  by  a  goblin- 
like  head  with  little  horns  rising  all  over  it. 

"Mas'r, "  said  the  apparition,  "Aunt  Sheba  sends  you 
dis,  and  sez  de  Lord  be  wid  you. ' ' 

"Thanks  for  Aunt  Sheba,  and  you,  too,  whatever  you 
are,"  cried  Graham;  and  to  gratify  his  curiosity  he  sprang 
down  on  his  knees  and  peered  out  in  time  to  see  a  little 
negro  girl  replacing  the  brush,  while  what  he  had  mistaken 
for  horns  was  evidently  the  child's  manner  of  wearing  her 
hair.  He  then  gave  his  attention  to  the  material  portion  of 
Aunt  Sheba' s  offering,  and  found  a  rude  sort  of  platter,  or 
low  basket,  made  of  corn  husks,  and  in  this  another  jug 
of  milk,  corn  bread,  and  a  delicious  broiled  chicken  done 
to  that  turn  of  perfection  of  which  only  the  colored  aunties 
of  the  South  are  capable. 

"Well!"  ejaculated  Graham.  "From  this  day  I'm  an 
abolitionist,  a  Republican  of  the  blackest  dye."  A  little 
later  he  added,  ' '  Any  race  that  can  produce  a  woman  capa 
ble  of  such  cookery  as  this  has  a  future  before  it. ' ' 

Indeed,  the  whole  affair  was  taking  such  an  agreeable 
turn  that  he  was  inclined  to  be  jocular. 

After  another  long  sleep  in  the  afternoon,  he  was  much 
refreshed,  and  eager  to  rejoin  his  command.  But  Issachar, 
or  Iss,  as  his  associates  called  him,  the  negro  who  had  be 
friended  him  in  the  first  instance,  came  and  explained  that 
the  whole  country  was  full  of  Confederates;  and  that  it 
might  be  several  days  before  it  would  be  safe  to  seek  the 
Union  lines. 

"We'se  all  lookin'  out  fer  yer,  mas'r,"  he  continued; 
"you  won't  want  for  nothin'.  An'  we  won't  kep  yer  in 
dis  woodchuck  hole  arter  nine  ob  de  ev'nin'.  Don't  try  ter 
come  out.  I'm  lookin'  t'oder  way  while  I'se  a-talkin'. 


206  BIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

Mean  niggers  an'  'Federates  may  be  spyin1  aroun'.  But 
I  reckon  not;  I'se  laid  in  de  woods  all  day,  a-watchin'. 

41  Now  I  tell  yer  what  'tis,  mas'r,  I'se  made  up  my  mine 
to  put  out  ob  heah.  I'se  gwine  ter  jine  de  Linkum  men 
fust  chance  I  gits.  An'  if  yer' 11  wait  an'  trus'  me,  I'll  take 
yer  slick  and  clean;  fer  I  know  dis  yer  country  and  ebery 
hole  whar  ter  hide  well  as  a  fox.  If  I  gits  safe  ter  de 
Linkum  folks,  yer'll  say  a  good  word  fer  Iss,  I  reckon." 

"Indeed,  I  will.  If  you  wish,  I'll  take  you  into  my  own 
service,  and  pay  you  good  wages. ' ' 

"Done,  by  golly;  and  when  dey  cotch  us,  dey'll  cotch 
a  weasel  asleep. ' ' 

"But  haven't  you  a  wife  and  children?" 

"Oh,  yah.  I'se  got  a  wife,  an'  I'se  got  a  lot  ob  chillen 
somewhar  in  de  'Fed' racy;  but  I'll  come  wid  you  uns  bime 
by,  an'  gedder  up  all  I  can  fine.  I'se  '11  come  'long  in  de 
shank  ob  de  ev'nin',  mas'r,  and  guv  yer  a  shakedown  in 
my  cabin,  an'  I'll  watch  while  yer  sleeps.  Den  I'll  bring 
yer  back  heah  befo'  light  in  de  mawnin'." 

The  presence  of  Confederate  forces  required  these  pre 
cautions  for  several  days,  and  Iss  won  Graham's  whole 
heart  by  his  unwearied  patience  and  vigilance.  But  the 
young  man  soon  prevailed  on  the  faithful  fellow  to  sleep 
nights  while  he  watched;  for  after  the  long  inaction  of  the 
day  he  was  almost  wild  for  exercise.  Cautious  Iss  would 
have  been  nearly  crazed  with  anxiety  had  he  known  of  the 
reconnaissances  in  which  his  charge  indulged  while  he  slept. 
Graham  succeeded  in  making  himself  fully  master  of  the 
disposition  of  the  Eebel  forces  in  the  vicinity,  and  even 
tually  learned  that  the  greater  part  of  them  had  been  with 
drawn.  When  he  had  communicated  this  intelligence  to 
Iss,  they  prepared  to  start  for  the  Union  lines  on  the  follow 
ing  night,  which  proved  dark  and  stormy. 

Iss,  prudent  man,  kept  the  secret  of  his  flight  from  even 
his  wife,  and  satisfied  his  marital  compunctions  by  chucking 
her  ander  the  chin  and  calling  her  "honey"  once  or  twice 
while  she  got  supper  for  him.  At  eight  in  the  evening  he 


AN   EARLY   DREAM    FULFILLED  207 

summoned  Graham  from  his  hiding-place,  and  led  him,  with 
almost  the  unerring  instinct  of  some  wild  creature  of  the 
night,  due  northeast,  the  direction  in  which  the  Union 
forces  were  said  to  be  at  that  time.  It  was  a  long,  desolate 
tramp,  and  the  dawn  found  them  drenched  and  weary.  But 
the  glorious  sun  rose  warm  and  bright,  and  in  a  hidden 
glade  of  the  forest  they  dried  their  clothes,  rested,  and  re 
freshed  themselves.  After  a  long  sleep  in  a  dense  thicket 
they  were  ready  to  resume  their  journey  at  nightfall.  Iss 
proved  an  invaluable  guide,  for,  concealing  Graham,  he 
would  steal  away,  communicate  with  the  negroes,  and  bring 
fresh  provisions. 

On  the  second  night  he  learned  that  there  was  a  Union 
force  not  very  far  distant  to  the  north  of  their  line  of  march. 
Graham  had  good  cause  to  wonder  at  the  sort  of  freemasonry 
that  existed  among  the  negroes,  and  the  facility  with  which 
they  obtained  and  transmitted  secret  intelligence.  Still  more 
had  he  reason  to  bless  their  almost  universal  fidelity  to  the 
Union  cause. 

Another  negro  joined  them  as  guide,  and  in  the  gray  of 
the  morning  they  approached  the  Union  pickets.  Graham 
deemed  it  wise  to  wait  till  they  could  advance  openly  and 
boldly;  and  by  nine  o'clock  he  was  received  with  acclama 
tions  by  his  own  regiment  as  one  risen  from  the  dead. 

After  congratulations  and  brief  explanations  were  over, 
his  first  task  was  to  despatch  the  two  brief  letters  mentioned, 
to  his  aunt  and  Hilland,  in  time  to  catch  the  daily  mail  that 
left  their  advanced  position.  Then  he  saw  his  brigade  com 
mander,  and  made  it  clear  to  him  that  with  a  force  of  about 
two  regiments  he  could  strike  a  heavy  blow  against  the  Con 
federates  whom  he  had  been  reconnoitring;  and  he  offered 
to  act  as  guide.  His  proposition  was  accepted,  and  the  at 
tacking  force  started  that  very  night.  By  forced  marches 
they  succeeded  in  surprising  the  Confederate  encampment 
and  in  capturing  a  large  number  of  prisoners.  Iss  also  sur 
prised  his  wife  and  Aunt  Sheba  even  more  profoundly,  and 
before  their  exclamations  ceased  he  had  bundled  them  and 


208  HIS   SOMBRE    RIVALS 

their  meagre  belongings  into  a  mule  cart,  with  such  of  the 
"chillen"  as  had  been  left  to  him,  and  was  following  tri 
umphantly  in  the  wake  of  the  victorious  Union  column; 
and  not  a  few  of  their  sable  companions  kept  them  company. 

The  whole  affair  was  regarded  as  one  of  the  most  bril 
liant  episodes  of  the  campaign:  and  Graham  received  much 
credit,  not  only  in  the  official  reports,  but  in  the  press. 
Indeed,  the  latter,  although  with  no  aid  from  the  chief 
actor,  obtained  an  outline  of  the  whole  story,  from  the  res 
cue  of  his  friend  to  his  guidance  of  the  successful  expedi 
tion,  and  it  was  repeated  with  many  variations  and  exagger- 
tions.  He  cared  little  for  these  brief  echoes  of  fame;  but 
the  letters  of  his  aunt,  Hilland,  and  even  the  old  major,  were 
valued  indeed,  while  a  note  from  the  grateful  wife  became 
his  treasure  of  treasures. 

They  had  returned  some  time  before  to  the  St.  John  cot 
tage,  and  she  had  at  last  written  him  a  letter  "straight  from 
her  heart,"  on  the  quaint  secretary  in  the  library,  as  he  had 
dreamed  possible  on  the  first  evening  of  their  acquaintance. 


UNCHRONICLED    CONFLICTS  209 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

UNCHRONICLED   CONFLICTS 

GRAHAM'S  friends  were  eager  that  he  should  obtain 
leave  of  absence,  but  he  said,  "No,  not  until  some 
time  in  the  winter." 

His  aunt  understood  him  sufficiently  well  not  to  urge  the 
matter,  and  it  may  be  added  that  Grace  did  also. 

Hilland's  arm  healed  rapidly,  and  happy  as  he  was  in  his 
home  life  at  the  cottage  he  soon  began  to  chafe  under  inac 
tion.  Before  very  long  it  became  evident  that  the  major 
had  not  wholly  outlived  his  influence  at  Washington,  for 
there  came  an  order  assigning  Major  Hilland  to  duty  in 
that  city;  and  thither,  accompanied  by  Grace  and  her 
father,  he  soon  repaired.  The  arrangement  proved  very 
agreeable  to  Hilland  during  the  period  when  his  regiment 
could  engage  in  little  service  beyond  that  of  dreary  picket 
duty.  He  could  make  his  labors  far  more  useful  to  the 
government  in  the  city,  and  could  also  enjoy  domestic  life 
with  his  idolized  wife.  Mrs.  Mayburn  promised  to  join 
them  after  the  holidays,  and  the  reason  for  her  delay  was 
soon  made  evident. 

One  chilly,  stormy  evening,  when  nature  was  in  a  most 
uncomfortable  mood,  a  card  was  brought  to  the  door  of 
Hilland's  rooms  at  their  inn  just  as  he,  with  his  wife  and 
the  major,  was  sitting  down  to  one  of  those  exquisite  little 
dinners  which  only  Grace  knew  how  to  order,  flilland 
glanced  at  the  card,  and  gave  such  a  shout  that  the  waiter 
nearly  fell  over  backward. 

"Where  is  the  gentleman?  Take  me  to  him  on  the 
double-quick.  It's  Graham.  Hurrah!  I'll  order  another 
dinner  I"  and  he  vanished,  chasing  the  man  downstairs  and 


210  HIS    SOMBRE    RIVALS 

into  the  waiting-room,  as  if  he  were  a  detachment  of  Con 
federate  cavalry.  The  decorous  people  in  the  hotel  parlor 
were  astounded  as  Hilland  nearly  ran  over  the  breathless 
waiter  at  the  door,  dashed  in  like  a  whirlwind,  and  carried 
off  his  friend,  laughing,  chaffing,  and  embracing  him  all  the 
way  up  the  stairs.  It  was  the  old,  wild  exuberancy  of  his 
college  days,  only  intensified  by  the  deepest  and  most  grate 
ful  emotion. 

Grace  stood  within  her  door  blushing,  smiling,  and  with 
tears  of  feeling  in  her  lovely  eyes. 

"Here  he  is,"  cried  Hilland — "the  very  god  of  war. 
Give  him  his  reward,  Grace — a  kiss  that  he  will  feel  to  the 
soles  of  his  boots." 

But  she  needed  no  prompting,  for  instead  of  taking 
Graham's  proffered  hand,  she  put  her  hands  on  his  shoul 
ders  and  kissed  him  again  and  again,  exclaiming,  "You 
saved  Warren's  life;  you  virtually  gave  yours  for  his;  and 
in  saving  him  you  saved  me.  May  God  bless  you  every 
hour  you  live!" 

"Grace,"  he  said,  gravely  and  gently,  looking  down  into 
her  swimming  eyes  and  retaining  her  hands  in  a  strong, 
warm  clasp,  "I  am  repaid  a  thousand- fold.  I  think  this  is 
the  happiest  moment  of  my  life;"  and  then  he  turned  to  the 
major,  who  was  scarcely  less  demonstrative  in  his  way  than 
Hilland  had  been. 

"By  Jove!"  cried  the  veteran,  "the  war  is  going  to  be 
the  making  of  you  young  fellows.  Why,  Graham,  you  no 
more  look  like  the  young  man  that  played  whist  with  me 
years  since  than  I  do.  You  have  grown  broad-shouldered 
and  distingue,  and  you  have  the  true  military  air  in  spite  of 
that  quiet  civilian's  dress." 

"Oh,  I  shall  always  be  comparatively  insignificant,"  re 
plied  Graham,  laughing.  "Wait  till  Hilland  wears  the  stars, 
as  he  surely  will,  and  then  you'll  see  a  soldier." 

"We  see  far  more  than  a  soldier  in  you,  Alford,"  said 
Grace,  earnestly.  "Your  men  told  Warren  of  your  almost 
miraculous  leap  across  the  ditch;  and  Warren  has  again  and 


UNCHRON1CLED    CONFLICTS  211 

again  described  your  appearance  as  you  rushed  by  him  on 
his  pursuers.  Oh,  I've  seen  the  whole  thing  in  my  dreams 
so  often!" 

"Yes,  Graham;  you  looked  like  one  possessed.  You 
reminded  me  of  the  few  occasions  when,  in  old  college 
days,  you  got  into  a  fury.1' 

A  frown  as  black  as  night  lowered  on  Graham's  brow, 
for  they  were  recalling  the  most  hateful  memory  of  his  life 
— a  thought  for  which  he  felt  he  ought  to  die;  but  it  passed 
almost  instantly,  and  in  the  most  prosaic  tones  he  said, 
"Good  friends,  I'm  hungry.  I've  splashed  through  Vir 
ginia  mud  twelve  mortal  hours  to-day.  Grace,  be  prepared 
for  such  havoc  as  only  a  cavalryman  can  make.  We  don't 
get  such  fare  as  this  at  the  front. " 

She,  with  the  pretty  housewifely  bustle  which  he  had 
admired  years  ago,  rang  the  bell  and  made  preparations  for 
a  feast. 

"Every  fatted  calf  in  Washington  should  be  killed  for 
you,"  she  cried — "prodigal  that  you  are,  but  only  in  brave 
deeds.  Where's  Iss  ?  1  want  to  see  and  feast  him  also." 

"1  left  him  well  provided  for  in  the  lower  regions,  and 
astounding  the  'cullud  bredren'  with  stories  which  only  the 
African  can  swallow.  He  shall  come  up  by  and  by,  for  1 
have  my  final  orders  to  give.  He  leads  my  horse  back  to 
the  regiment  in  the  morning,  and  takes  care  of  him  in  my 
absence.  I  hope  to  spend  a  month  with  aunt." 

"And  how  much  time  with  us?"  asked  Hilland,  eagerly. 

"This  evening." 

"Now,  Graham,  I  protest — " 

"Now,  Hilland,  I'm  ravenous,  and  here's  a  dinner  fit  for 
the  Great  Mogul." 

"Oh,  I  know  you  of  old.  When  you  employ  a  certain 
tone  you  intend  to  have  your  own  way;  but  it  isn't  fair." 

"Don't  take  it  to  heart.  I'll  make  another  raid  on  you 
when  I  return,  and  then  we  shall  soon  be  at  the  front  to 
gether  again.  Aunty's  lonely,  you  know." 

"Grace  and  I  don't  count,  I  suppose,"  said  the  major. 


212  HIS   SOMBRE    RIVALS 

"I  had  a  thousand  questions  to  ask  you;"  and  he  looked  so 
aggrieved  that  Graham  compromised  and  promised  to  spend 
the  next  day  with  him. 

Then  he  gave  an  almost  hilarious  turn  to  the  rest  of 
the  evening,  and  one  would  have  thought  that  he  was  in  the 
high  spirits  natural  to  any  young  officer  with  a  month's 
leave  of  absence.  He  described  the  "woodchuck  hole" 
which  had  been  his  hiding-place,  sketched  humorously 
the  portraits  of  Iss,  Aunt  Sheba,  who  was  now  his  aunt's 
cook,  and  gave  funny  episodes  of  his  midnight  prowliogs 
while  waiting  for  a  chance  to  reach  the  Union  lines.  Grace 
noted  how  skilfully  he  kept  his  own  personality  in  the  back 
ground  unless  he  appeared  in  some  absurd  or  comical  light; 
and  she  also  noted  that  his  eyes  rested  upon  her  less  and 
less  often,  until  at  last,  after  Iss  had  had  his  most  flattering 
reception,  he  said  good-night  rather  abruptly. 

The  next  day  he  entertained  the  major  in  a  way  that  was 
exceedingly  gratifying  and  flattering  to  the  veteran.  He 
brought  some  excellent  maps,  pointed  out  the  various  lines 
of  march,  the  positions  of  the  opposing  armies,  and  showed 
clearly  what  had  been  done  and  what  might  have  been. 
He  next  became  the  most  patient  and  absorbed  listener,  as 
the  old  gentleman,  by  the  aid  of  the  same  maps,  planned 
a  campaign  which  during  the  coming  year  would  have  an 
nihilated  the  Confederacy.  Grace,  sitting  near  the  window, 
might  have  imagined  herself  almost  ignored.  But  she  inter 
preted  him  differently.  She  now  had  the  key  which  ex 
plained  his  conduct,  and  more  than  once  tears  came  into 
her  eyes. 

Hilland  returned  early,  having  hastened  through  his 
duties,  and  was  in  superb  spirits.  They  spent  an  afternoon 
together  which  stood  out  in  memory  like  a  broad  gleam 
of  sunshine  in  after  years;  and  then  Graham  took  his  leave 
with  messages  from  all  to  Mrs.  Mayburn,  who  was  to  return 
with  him. 

As  they  were  parting,  Grace  hesitated  a  moment,  and 
then  stepping  forward  impulsively  she  took  Graham's  hand 


DNCHRON1CLED    CONFLICTS  213 

in  both  of  hers,  and  said  impetuously:  "You  have  seen  how 
very,  very  happy  we  all  are.  Do  you  think  that  I  forget 
for  a  moment  that  I  owe  it  to  you?" 

Graham's  iron  nerves  gave  way.  His  hand  trembled. 
"Don't  speak  to  me  in  that  way,"  he  murmured.  "Come, 
Hilland,  or  I  shall  miss  the  train;"  and  in  a  moment  he  was 
gone. 

Mrs.  May  burn  never  forgot  the  weeks  he  spent  with  her. 
Sometimes  she  would  look  at  him  wonderingly,  and  once 
she  said:  "Alford,  it  is  hard  for  me  to  believe  that  you 
have  passed  through  all  that  you  have.  Day  after  day 
passes,  and  you  seem  perfectly  content  with  my  quiet, 
monotonous  life.  You  read  to  me  my  old  favorite  authors. 
You  chaff  me  and  Aunt  Sheba  about  our  little  domestic 
economies.  Beyond  a  hasty  run  through  the  morning  paper 
you  scarcely  look  at  the  daily  journals.  You  are  content 
with  one  vigorous  walk  each  day.  Indeed  you  seem  to 
have  settled  down  and  adapted  yourself  to  my  old  woman's 
life  for  the  rest  of  time.  I  thought  you  would  be  restless, 
urging  my  earlier  return  to  Washington,  or  seeking  to 
abridge  your  leave,  so  that  you  might  return  to  the  excite 
ment  of  the  camp." 

"No,  aunty  dear,  I  am  not  restless.  I  have  outlived 
and  outgrown  that  phase  of  my  life.  You  will  find  that  my 
pulse  is  as  even  as  yours.  Indeed  I  have  a  deep  enjoyment 
of  this  profound  quiet  of  our  house.  I  have  fully  accepted 
my  lot,  and  now  expect  only  those  changes  that  come  from 
without  and  not  from  within.  To  be  perfectly  sincere  with 
you,  the  feeling  is  growing  that  this  profound  quietude  that 
has  fallen  upon  me  may  be  the  prelude  to  final  rest.  It's 
right  that  I  should  accustom  your  mind  to  the  possibilities 
of  every  day  in  our  coming  campaign,  which  I  well  foresee 
will  be  terribly  severe.  At  first  our  generals  did  not  know 
how  to  use  cavalry,  and  beyond  escort  and  picket  duty 
httle  was  asked  of  it.  Now  all  this  is  changed.  Cavalry 
has  its  part  in  every  pitched  battle,  and  in  the  intervals 
\t  has  many  severe  conflicts  of  its  own.  Daring,  ambitious 


214  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

leaders  are  coming  to  the  front,  and  the  year  will  be  one 
of  great  and  hazardous  activity.  My  chief  regret  is  that 
Hilland's  wound  did  not  disable  him  wholly  from  further 
service  in  the  field.  Still  he  will  come  out  all  right  He 
always  has  and  ever  will.  There  are  hidden  laws  that  con 
trol  and  shape  our  lives.  It  seems  to  me  that  you  were  pre 
destined  to  be  just  what  you  are.  Your  life  is  rounded 
out  and  symmetrical  according  to  its  own  law.  The  same 
is  true  of  Hilland  and  of  myself  thus  far.  The  rudiments 
of  what  we  are  to-day  were  clearly  apparent  when  we  were 
boys.  He  is  the  same  ardent,  jolly,  whole-souled  fellow 
that  clapped  me  on  the  back  after  leaving  the  class-room. 
Everybody  liked  him  then,  everything  favored  him.  Often 
when  he  had  not  looked  at  a  lesson  he  would  make  a  superb 
recitation.  1  was  moody  and  introspective;  so  I  am  to-day. 
Even  the  unforeseen  events  of  life  league  together  to  de 
velop  one's  characteristics.  The  conditions  of  his  life  to 
day  are  in  harmony  with  all  that  has  been;  the  same  is  true 
of  mine,  with  the  r;trange  exception  that  I  have  found  a 
home  and  a  dear  s*ai.-h  friend  in  one  who  I  supposed  would 
ever  be  a  stranger.  6ee  how  true  my  theory  is  of  Grace  and 
her  father.  Her  blithesome  girlhood  has  developed  into 
the  happiest  wifehood.  Her  brow  is  as  smooth  as  ever,  and 
her  eyes  as  bright.  They  hr.ve  only  gained  in  depth  and 
tenderness  as  the  woman  has  taken  the  place  of  the  girl. 
Her  form  has  only  developed  into  lovelier  proportions, 
and  her  character  into  a  more  exquisite  symmetry.  She 
has  been  one  continuous  growth  according  to  the  laws  of 
her  being;  and  so  it  will  be  to  the  end.  She  will  be  just 
as  beautiful  and  lovable  in  old  age  as  now;  for  nature,  in 
a  genial  mood,  infused  into  her  no  discordant,  disfiguring 
elements.  The  major  also  is  completing  his  life  in  conso 
nance  with  all  that  has  gone  before." 

"Alford,  you  are  more  of  a  fatalist  than  a  materialist. 
In  my  heart  1  feel,  I  know,  you  are  wrong.  What  you  say 
seems  so  plausible  as  to  be  true;  but  my  very  soul  revolts 
at  it  all.  There  is  a  deep  undertone  of  sadness  in  your 


UNCHRONICLED    CONFLICTS  215 

words,  and  they  point  to  a  possibility  that  would  imbitter 
every  moment  of  the  remnant  of  my  life.  Suppose  you 
should  fall,  what  remedy  would  there  be  for  me  ?  Oh,  in 
anguish  I  have  learned  what  life  would  become  then.  I  am 
a  materialist  like  yourself,  although  all  the  clergymen  in 
town  would  say  i  was  orthodox.  From  earliest  recollection 
mere  things  and  certain  people  have  been  everything  to  me; 
and  now  you  are  everything,  and  yet  at  this  hour  the  bullet 
may  be  molded  which  will  strike  you  down.  Grace,  with 
her  rich,  beautiful  life,  is  in  equal  danger.  Hilland  will  go 
into  the  field  and  will  expose  himself  as  recklessly  as  your 
self.  I  have  no  faith  in  your  obscure  laws.  Thousands 
were  killed  in  the  last  campaign,  thousands  are  dying  in 
hospitals  this  moment,  and  all  this  means  thousands  of 
broken  hearts,  unless  they  are  sustained  by  something  I 
have  not.  This  world  is  all  very  well  when  all  is  well,  but 
it  can  so  easily  become  an  accursed  world!"  The  old  lady 
spoke  with  a  strange  bitterness,  revealing  the  profound  dis 
quietude  that  existed  under  the  serene  amenities  of  her 
age  and  her  methodical  life. 

Graham  sought  to  give  a  lighter  tone  to  their  talk  and 
said:  "Oh,  well,  aunty,  perhaps  we  are  darkening  the  sun 
with  our  own  shadows.  We  must  take  life  as  we  find  it. 
There  is  no  help  for  that.  You  have  done  so  practically. 
With  your  strong  good  sense  you  could  not  do  otherwise. 
The  trouble  is  that  you  are  haunted  by  old-time  New  Eng 
land  beliefs  that,  from  your  ancestry,  have  become  infused 
into  your  very  blood.  You  can't  help  them  any  more  than 
other  inherited  infirmities  which  may  have  afflicted  your 
grandfather.  Let  us  speak  of  something  else.  Ah,  here  is 
a  welcome  diversion— 'the  daily  paper — and  I'll  read  it 
through  to  you,  and  we'll  gain  another  hint  as  to  the 
drift  of  this  great  tide  of  events." 

The  old  lady  shook  her  head  sadly;  and  the  fact  that 
she  watched  the  young  man  with  hungry,  wistful  eyes, 
often  blinded  with  tears,  proved  that  neither  state  nor 
military  policy  was  uppermost  in  her  mind. 


216  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 


CHAPTER  XXV 

A      PRESENTIMENT 

ON  Christmas  morning  Graham  found  his  breakfast" 
plate  pushed  back,  and  in  its  place  lay  a  superb 
sword  and  belt,  fashioned  much  like  the  one  he 
had  lost  in  the  rescue  of  his  friend.     With  it  was  a  genial 
letter  from  flilland,  and  a  little  note  from  Grace,  which 
only  said: 

"You  will  find  my  name  engraved  upon  the  sword  with  Warren's.  We 
have  added  nothing  else,  for  the  good  reason  that  our  names  mean  every 
thing — more  than  could  be  expressed,  were  the  whole  blade  covered  with 
symbols,  each  meaning  a  volume.  You  have  taught  us  how  you  will  use  the 
weapon,  my  truest  and  best  of  friends.  GRACE  HILLAND.  " 

His  eyes  lingered  on  the  name  so  long  that  his  aunt 
asked:  "Why  don't  you  look  at  your  gift?" 

He  slowly  drew  the  long,  keen,  shining  blade,  and  saw 
again  the  name  "Grace  Hilland,"  and  for  a  time  he  saw 
nothing  else.  Suddenly  he  turned  the  sword  and  on  the 
opposite  side  was  "Warren  Hilland,"  and  he  shook  his 
head  sadly. 

"Alford,  what  is  the  matter?"  his  aunt  asked  im 
patiently. 

"Why  didn't  they  have  their  names  engraved  to 
gether?"  he  muttered  slowly,  "it's  a  bad  omen.  See, 
a  sword  is  between  their  names.  I  wish  they  had  been 
together.  Oh,  I  wish  Hilland  could  be  kept  out  of  the 
field!" 

"There  it  is,  Alford,"  began  his  aunt,  irritably;  "you 
men  who  don't  believe  anything  are  always  the  victims  of 
superstition.  Bad  omen,  indeed!" 


A   PRESENTIMENT  217 

"Well,  I  suppose  I  am  a  fool;  but  a  strange  chill  at 
heart  struck  me  for  which  I  can't  account;"  and  he  sprang 
up  and  paced  the  floor  uneasily.  "Well,"  he  continued,  "I 
would  bury  it  in  my  own  heart  rather  than  cause  her  one 
hour's  sorrow,  but  I  wish  their  names  had  been  together." 
Then  he  took  it  up  again  and  said:  "Beautiful  as  it  is,  it 
may  have  to  do  some  stern  work,  Grace — work  far  remote 
from  your  nature.  All  I  ask  is  that  it  may  come  between 
Hilland  and  danger  again.  I  wish  I  had  not  had  that 
strange,  cursed  presentiment." 

"Oh,  Alford!  I  never  saw  you  in  such  a  mood,  and  on 
Christmas  morning,  too!" 

"That  is  just  what  I  don't  like  about  it — it's  not  my  habit 
to  indulge  such  fancies,  to  say  the  least.  Come  what  may, 
however,  I  dedicate  the  sword  to  her  service  without  count 
ing  any  cost;"  and  he  kissed  her  name,  and  laid  the  weapon 
reverently  aside. 

"You  are  morbid  this  morning.  Go  to  the  door  and  see 
my  present  to  you.  You  will  find  no  bad  omens  on  his 
shining  coat." 

Graham  felt  that  it  was  weak  to  entertain  such  impres 
sions  as  had  mastered  him,  and  hastened  out.  There,  paw 
ing  the  frozen  ground,  was  a  horse  that  satisfied  even  his 
fastidious  eye.  There  "was  not  a  white  hair  in  the  coal- 
black  coat.  In  his  enthusiasm  he  forgot  his  hat,  and  led 
the  beautiful  creature  up  and  down,  observing  with  exul 
tation  his  perfect  action,  clean-cut  limbs,  and  deep,  broad 
chest. 

"Bring  me  a  bridle,"  he  said  to  the  man  in  attendance, 
"and  my  hat." 

A  moment  later  he  had  mounted. 

"Breakfast  is  getting  cold,"  cried  his  aunt  from  the  win 
dow,  delighted,  nevertheless,  at  the  appreciation  of  her  gift. 

"This  horse  is  breakfast  and  dinner  both,"  he  shouted, 
as  he  galloped  down  the  path. 

Then,  to  the  old  lady's  horror,  he  dashed  through  the 
trees  and  shrubbery,  took  a  picket-fence  in  a  flying  leap, 
J— ROE— XIII 


218  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

and  circled  round  the  house  till  Mrs.  May  burn's  head  was 
dizzy.  Then  she  saw  him  coming  toward  the  door  as  if  he 
would  ride  through  the  house ;  but  the  horse  stopped  almost 
instantly,  and  Graham  was  on  his  feet,  handing  the  bridle 
to  the  gaping  groom. 

"Take  good  care  of  him,"  he  said  to  the  man,  "for  he  is 
a  jewel." 

"  Alford, ' '  exclaimed  his  aunt,  "could  you  make  no  better 
return  for  my  gift  than  to  frighten  me  out  of  my  wits  ?" 

"Dear  aunty,  you  are  too  well  supplied  ever  to  lose  them 
for  so  slight  a  cause.  I  wanted  to  show  the  perfection  of 
your  gift,  and  how  well  it  may  serve  me.  You  don't  im 
agine  that  our  cavalry  evolutions  are  all  performed  on 
straight  turnpike  roads,  do  you  ?  Now  you  know  that 
you  have  given  me  an  animal  that  can  carry  me  wherever 
a  horse  can  go,  and  so  have  added  much  to  my  chances  of 
safety.  I  can  skim  out  of  a  melde  like  a  bird  with  May- 
burn — for  that  shall  be  his  name — where  a  blundering, 
stupid  horse  would  break  my  neck,  if  I  wasn't  shot.  I  saw 
at  once  from  his  action  what  he  could  do.  Where  on  earth 
did  you  get  such  a  creature  ?' ' 

"Well,"  said  the  old  lady,  beaming  with  triumphant 
happiness,  "I  have  had  agents  on  the  lookout  a  long  time. 
The  man  of  whom  you  had  your  first  horse,  then  called 
Firebrand,  found  him;  and  he  knew  well  that  he  could  not 
impose  any  inferior  animal  upon  you.  Are  you  really  sin 
cere  in  saying  that  such  a  horse  as  this  adds  to  your  chances 
of  safety?" 

"Certainly.  That's  what  I  was  trying  to  show  you. 
Did  you  not  see  how  he  would  wind  in  and  out  among  the 
trees  and  shrubbery — how  he  would  take  a  fence  lightly 
without  any  floundering  ?  There  is  just  as  much  difference 
among  horses  as  among  men.  Some  are  simply  awkward, 
heavy,  and  stupid;  others  are  vicious;  more  are  good  at 
times  and  under  ordinary  circumstances,  but  fail  you  at  n 
pinch.  This  horse  is  thoroughbred  and  well  broken.  Yf  V, 
must  have  paid  a  small  fortune  for  him." 


A    PRESENTIMENT  219 

"I  never  invested  money  that  satisfied  me  better." 

"It's  like  you  to  say  so.  Well,  take  the  full  comfort  of 
thinking  how  much  you  have  added  to  my  comfort  and 
prospective  well-being.  That  gallop  has  already  done  me 
a  world  of  good,  and  given  me  an  appetite.  I'll  have  an 
other  turn  across  the  country  after  breakfast,  and  throw  all 
evil  presentiments  to  the  winds." 

"Why,  now  you  talk  sense.  When  you  are  in  any  more 
such  moods  as  this  morning  I  shall  prescribe  horse." 

Before  New  Year's  day  Graham  had  installed  his  aunt 
comfortably  in  rooms  adjoining  the  flillands',  and  had 
thanked  his  friends  for  their  gift  in  a  way  that  proved  it 
to  be  appreciated.  Mrs.  Mayburn  had  been  cautioned 
never  to  speak  of  what  he  now  regarded  as  a  foolish  and 
unaccountable  presentiment,  arising,  perhaps,  from  a  cer 
tain  degree  of  morbidness  of  mind  in  all  that  related  to 
Grace.  Iss  was  on  hand  to  act  as  groom,  and  Graham  rode 
out  with  Hilland  and  Grace  several  times  before  his  leave 
expired.  Even  at  that  day,  when  the  city  was  full  of  gal 
lant  men  and  fair  women,  many  turned  to  look  as  the  three 
passed  down  the  avenue. 

Never  had  Grace  looked  so  radiantly  beautiful  as  when 
in  the  brilliant  sunshine  of  a  Washington  winter  and  in  the 
frosty  air  she  galloped  over  the  smooth,  hard  roads.  Hil 
land  was  proud  of  the  almost  wondering  looks  of  admiration 
that  everywhere  greeted  her,  and  too  much  in  love  to  note 
that  the  ladies  they  met  looked  at  him  in  much  the  same 
way.  The  best  that  was  said  of  Graham  was  that  he  looked 
a  soldier,  every  inch  of  him,  and  that  he  rode  the  finest 
horse  in  the  city  as  if  he  had  been  brought  up  in  a  saddle. 
He  was  regarded  by  society  as  reserved,  unsocial,  and  proud; 
and  at  two  or  three  receptions,  to  which  he  went  because  of 
the  solicitation  of  his  friends,  he  piqued  the  vanity  of  more 
than  one  handsome  woman  by  his  courteous  indifference. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  your  husband's  friend?"  a 
reigning  belle  asked  Grace.  "One  might  as  well  try  to 
make  an  impression  on  a  paving-stone." 


220  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

"I  think  your  illustration  unhappy,"  was  her  quiet 
reply.  "I  cannot  imagine  Mr.  Graham  at  any  one's 
feet." 

"Not  even  your  own?"  was  the  malicious  retort. 

"Not  even  my  own,"  and  a  flash  of  anger  from  her  dark 
eyes  accompanied  her  answer. 

Still,  wherever  he  went  he  awakened  interest  in  all  na 
tures  not  dull  or  sodden.  He  was  felt  to  be  a  presence. 
There  was  a  consciousness  of  power  in  his  very  attitudes; 
and  one  felt  instinctively  that  he  was  far  removed  from  the 
commonplace — that  he  had  had  a  history  which  made  him 
different  from  other  men. 

But  before  this  slight  curiosity  was  kindled  to  any  ex 
tent,  much  less  satisfied,  his  leave  of  absence  expired;  and 
with  a  sense  of  deep  relief  he  prepared  to  say  farewell.  His 
friends  expected  to  see  him  often  in  the  city ;  he  knew  they 
would  see  him  but  seldom,  if  at  all.  He  had  made  his  visit 
with  his  aunt,  and  she  understood  him.  His  quiet  poise  was 
departing,  and  he  longed  for  the  stern,  fierce  excitement  of 
active  service. 

Before  he  joined  his  regiment  he  spent  the  day  with  his 
friends,  and  took  occasion  once,  when  alone  with  Hilland, 
to  make  an  appeal  that  was  solemn  and  almost  passionate 
in  its  earnestness,  adjuring  him  to  remain  employed  in 
duties  like  those  which  now  occupied  him.  But  he  saw 
that  his  efforts  were  vain. 

"No,  Graham,"  was  Hilland's  emphatic  reply;  "just  as 
soon  as  there  is  danger  at  the  front  I  shall  be  with  my  regi 
ment.  Now  I  can  do  more  here." 

With  Grace  he  took  a  short  ride  in  the  morning  while 
Hilland  was  engaged  in  his  duties,  and  he  looked  at  the 
fair  woman  by  his  side  with  the  thought  that  he  might 
never  see  her  again.  It  almost  seemed  as  if  Grace  under 
stood  him,  for  although  the  rich  color  mantled  in  her  cheeks 
and  she  abounded  in  smile  and  repartee,  a  look  of  deep  sad 
ness  rarely  left  her  eyes. 

Once  she  said  abruptly,  "  Alford,  you  will  come  and  see 


A    PRESENTIMENT  221 

us  often  oef ore  the  campaign  opens  ?    Oh,  I  dread  this  com 
ing  campaign.     You  will  come  often?" 

"1  fear  not,  Grace,"  he  said,  gravely  and  gently.  "I 
will  try  to  come,  but  not  often."  Then  he  added,  with  a 
short,  abrupt  laugh,  "1  wish  I  could  break  flilland's  leg." 
In  answer  to  a  look  of  surprise  he  continued,  "Could  pot 
your  father  procure  an  order  that  would  keep  him  in  the 
city  ?  fle  would  have  to  obey  orders." 

"Ah,  1  understand  you,"  and  there  was  a  quick  rush  of 
tears  to  her  eyes.  "It's  of  no  use.  I  have  thought  of  every 
thing,  but  Warren's  heart  is  set  on  joining  his  regiment  in 
the  spring. ' ' 

"I  know  it  I  have  said  all  that  I  could  say  to  a  brother 
on  the  subject." 

"From  the  first,  Alford,  you  have  tried  to  make  the  or 
deal  of  this  war  less  painful  to  me,  and  how  well  you  have 
succeeded  1  You  have  been  our  good  genius.  Warren,  in 
his  impetuous,  chivalrous  feeling,  would  have  gone  into  it 
unadvisedly,  hastily;  and  before  this  might—  Oh,  I  can't 
even  think  of  it,"  she  said  with  a  shudder.  "But  years 
have  passed  since  your  influence  guided  him  into  a  wiser 
and  more  useful  course,  and  think  how  much  of  the  time  I 
have  been  able  to  be  with  him!  And  it  has  all  been  due 
to  you,  Alford.  But  the  war  seems  no  nearer  its  end.  It 
rather  assumes  a  larger  and  more  threatening  aspect.  Why 
do  not  men  think  of  us  poor  women  before  they  go  to  war?" 

"You  think,  then,  that  even  your  influence  cannot  keep 
him  from  the  field?" 

"No,  it  could  not  Indeed,  beyond  a  certain  point  I 
dare  not  exert  it  I  should  be  dumb  before  questions  al 
ready  asked,  'Why  should  I  shrink  when  other  husbands 
do  not?  What  would  be  said  of  me  here?  what  by  my 
comrades  in  the  regiment?  What  would  your  brave  father 
think,  though  he  might  acquiesce?  Nay,  more,  what  would 
my  wife  think  in  her  secret  heart?'  Alas!  I  find  I  am  not 
made  of  such  stern  stuff  as  are  some  women.  Pride  and 
military  fame  could  not  sustain  me  if — if — " 


222  BIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

"Do  not  look  on  the  gloomy  side,  Grace.  Hilland  will 
come  out  of  it  all  a  major-general," 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,  I  don't  know.  I  do  know  that  he 
will  often  be  in  desperate  danger;  what  a  dread  certainty 
that  is  for  me  I  Oh,  I  wish  you  could  be  always  near  him; 
and  yet  'tis  a  selfish  wish,  for  you  would  not  count  the  cost 
to  yourself." 

"No,  Grace;  I've  sworn  that  on  the  sword  you  gave  me. " 

"I  might  have  known  as  much."  Then  she  added  ear 
nestly,  "Believe  me,  if  you  should  fall  it  would  also  imbitter 
my  life." 

"Yes,  you  would  grieve  sincerely;  but  there  would  be 
an  infinite  difference,  an  infinite  difference.  One  question, 
however,  is  settled  beyond  recall.  If  my  life  can  serve  you 
or  Hilland,  no  power  shall  prevent  my  giving  it.  There  is 
nothing  more  to  be  said:  let  us  speak  of  something  else." 

"Yes,  Alford,  one  thing  more.  Once  I  misjudged  you. 
Forgive  me;"  and  she  caused  her  horse  to  spring  into  a 
gallop,  resolving  that  no  commonplace  words  should  follow 
closely  upon  a  conversation  that  had  touched  the  most  sa 
cred  feelings  and  impulses  of  each  heart 

For  some  reason  there  was  a  shadow  over  their  parting 
early  in  the  ever?:";  %  for  Graham  was  to  ride  toward  the 
front  with  the  dawn.  Even  Hilland's^  genial  spirits  could 
not  wholly  dissipate  it  Graham  made  heroic  efforts,  but 
he  was  oppressed  with  a  despondency  which  was  wellnigh 
overwhelming.  He  felt  that  he  was  becoming  unmanned, 
and  in  bitter  self-censure  resolved  to  remain  with  his  regi 
ment  until  the  end  came,  as  he  believed  would  be  the  case 
with  him  before  the  year  closed. 

"Alford,  remember  your  promise.  We  all  may  need  you 
yet,"  were  his  aunt's  last  words  in  the  gray  of  the  morning. 


AN   IMPROVISED   PICTURE    GALLERY  223 


CHAPTER   XXVI 


M 


UCH  to  Graham's  satisfaction,  his  regiment,  soon 
after  he  joined  it,  was  ordered  into  the  Shenan- 
doah  Valley,  and  given  some  rough,  dangerous 
picket  duty  that  fully  accorded  with  his  mood.  Even 
Hilland  could  not  expect  a  visit  from  him  now;  and  he 
explained  to  his  friend  that  the  other  officers  were  taking 
their  leaves  of  absence,  and  he,  in  turn,  must  perform  their 
duties.  And  so  the  winter  passed  uneventfully  away  in  a 
cheerful  interchange  of  letters.  Graham  found  that  the 
front  agreed  with  him  better  than  Washington,  and  that 
his  pulse  resumed  its  former  even  beat.  A  dash  at  a  Con 
federate  picket  post  on  a  stormy  night  was  far  more  tran- 
quilizing  than  an  evening  in  Hilland's  luxurious  rooms. 

With  the  opening  of  the  spring  campaign  Hilland  joined 
his  regiment,  and  was  eager  to  remove  by  his  courage  and 
activity  the  slightest  impression,  if  any  existed,  that  he  was 
disposed  to  shun  dangerous  service.  There  was  no  such  im 
pression,  however;  and  he  was  most  cordially  welcomed,  for 
he  was  a  great  favorite  with  both  officers  and  men. 

During  the  weeks  that  followed,  the  cavalry  was  called 
upon  to  do  heavy  work  and  severe  fighting;  and  the  two 
friends  became  more  conspicuous  than  ever  for  their  gal 
lantry.  They  seemed,  however,  to  bear  charmed  lives,  for, 
while  many  fell  or  were  wounded,  they  escaped  unharmed. 

At  last  the  terrific  and  decisive  campaign  of  Gettysburg 
opened;  and  from  the  war- wasted  and  guerilla-infested  re 
gions  of  Virginia  the  Northern  troops  found  themselves 


224  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

marching  through  the  friendly  and  populous  North.  As 
the  cavalry  brigade  entered  a  thriving  village  in  Pennsyl 
vania  the  people  turned  out  almost  en  masse  and  gave  them 
more  than  an  ovation.  The  troopers  were  tired,  hungry, 
and  thirsty;  and,  since  from  every  doorway  was  offered  a 
boundless  hospitality,  the  column  came  to  a  halt.  The 
scene  soon  developed  into  a  picturesque  military  picnic. 
Young  maids  and  venerable  matrons,  gray-bearded  fathers, 
shy,  blushing  girls,  and  eager-eyed  children,  all  vied  with 
each  other  in  pressing  upon  their  defenders  every  delicacy 
and  substantial  viand  that  their  town  could  furnish  at  the 
moment  A  pretty  miss  of  sixteen,  with  a  peach-like  bloom 
in  her  cheeks,  might  be  seen  flitting  here  and  there  among 
the  bearded  troopers  with  a  tray  bearing  goblets  of  milk. 
When  they  were  emptied  she  would  fly  back  and  lift  up 
white  arms  to  her  mother  for  more,  and  the  almost  equally 
blooming  matron,  smiling  from  the  window,  would  fill  the 
glasses  again  to  the  brim.  The  magnates  of  the  village 
with  their  wives  were  foremost  in  the  work,  and  were  pass 
ing  to  and  fro  with  great  baskets  of  sandwiches,  while  stal 
wart  men  and  boys  were  bringing  from  neighboring  wells 
and  pumps  cool,  delicious  water  for  the  horses.  How  im 
mensely  the  troopers  enjoyed  it  all  I  No  scowling  faces 
and  cold  looks  here.  All  up  and  down  the  street,  holding 
bridle-reins  over  their  arms  or  leaning  against  the  flanks  of 
their  horses,  they  feasted  as  they  had  not  done  since  their 
last  Thanksgiving  Day  at  home.  Such  generous  cups  of 
coffee,  enriched  with  cream  almost  too  thick  to  flow  from 
the  capacious  pitchers,  and  sweetened  not  only  with  snow- 
white  sugar,  but  also  with  the  smiles  of  some  gracious 
woman,  perhaps  motherly  in  appearance,  perhaps  so  fair 
and  young  that  hearts  beat  faster  under  the  weather-stained 
cavalry  jackets. 

"How  pretty  it  all  is!M  said  a  familiar  voice  to  Graham, 
as  he  was  dividing  a  huge  piece  of  cake  with  his  pet  May- 
burn;  and  Hilland  laid  his  hand  on  his  friend's  shoulder. 

"Ah,  Hilland,  seeing  you  is  the  best  part  of  this  ban- 


AN  IMPROVISED   PICTURE    GALLERY  225 

quet  d  la  militaire.  Yes,  it  is  a  heavenly  change  after  the 
dreary  land  we've  been  marching  and  fighting  in.  It  makes 
me  feel  that  I  have  a  country,  and  that  it's  worth  all  it  may 
cost." 

"Look,  Graham — look  at  that  little  fairy  creature  in 
white  muslin,  talking  to  that  great  bearded  pard  of  a  ser 
geant.  Isn't  that  a  picture?  Oh,  I  wish  Grace,  with  her 
eye  for  picturesque  effects,  could  look  upon  this  scene." 

"Nonsense,  Hilland!  as  if  she  would  look  at  anybody  or 
anything  but  you !  See  that  white-haired  old  woman  lead 
ing  that  exquisite  little  girl  to  yonder  group  of  soldiers. 
See  how  they  doff  their  hats  to  her.  There's  another  pic 
ture  for  you." 

Hilland's  magnificent  appearance  soon  attracted  half  a 
dozen  village  belles  about  him,  each  offering  some  dainty; 
and  one — a  black- eyed  witch  a  little  bolder  than  the  others 
— offered  to  fasten  a  rose  from  her  hair  in  his  button-hole. 

He  entered  into  the  spirit  of  the  occasion  with  all  the 
zest  of  his  old  student  days,  professed  to  be  delighted  with 
the  favor  as  she  stood  on  tiptoe  to  reach  the  lappet  of  his 
coat;  and  then  he  stooped  down  and  pressed  his  lips  to  the 
fragrant  petals,  assuring  the  blushing  little  coquette,  mean 
while,  that  it  was  the  next  best  thing  to  her  own  red  lips. 

How  vividly  in  after  years  Graham  would  recall  him,  as 
he  stood  there,  his  handsome  head  thrown  back,  looking  the 
ideal  of  an  old  Norse  viking,  laughing  and  chatting  with 
the  merry,  innocent  girls  around  him,  his  deep- blue  eyes 
emitting  mirthful  gleams  on  every  side!  According  to  his 
nature,  Graham  drew  off  to  one  side  and  watched  the  scene  ! 
with  a  smile,  as  he  had  viewed  similar  ones  far  back  in  the  ; 
years,  and  far  away  in  Germany.  He  saw  the  ripples  of 
laughter  that  his  friend's  words  provoked,  and  recognized 
the  old,  easy  grace,  the  light,  French- like  wit,  that  was 
wholly  free  from  the  French  double  entendre,  and  he  thought: 
"Would  that  Grace  could  see  him  now,  and  she  would  fall 
in  love  with  him  anew,  for  her  nature  is  too  large  for  petty 
jealousy  at  a  scene  like  that.  Oh,  Hilland,  you  and  the 


226  HIS  SOMBRE 

group  around  you  make  the  finest  picture  of  this  long  im 
provised  gallery  of  pictures.'* 

Suddenly  there  was  a  loud  report  of  a  cannon  from  a  hill 
above  the  village,  and  a  shell  shrieked  over  their  heads. 
Hilland's  laughing  aspect  changed  instantly.  He  seemed 
almost  to  gather  the  young  girls  in  his  arms  as  he  hurried 
them  into  the  nearest  doorway,  and  then  with  a  bound 
reached  Graham,  who  held  his  horse,  vaulted  into  the  sad* 
die,  and  dashed  up  the  street  to  his  men  who  were  standing 
in  line. 

Graham  sprang  lightly  on  his  horse,  for  in  the  scenes 
resulting  from  the  kaleidoscopic  change  that  had  taken 
place  he  would  be  more  at  home. 

4 'Mount I"  he  shouted;  and  the  order,  repeated  tip  and 
down  the  street,  changed  the  jolly,  feasting  troopers  of  a 
moment  since  into  veterans  who  would  sit  like  equestrian 
statues,  if  so  commanded,  though  a  hundred  guns  thun 
dered  against  them. 

From  the  further  end  of  the  village  came  the  wild  yell 
characteristic  of  the  cavalry  charges  of  the  Confederates, 
while  shell  after  shell  shrieked  and  exploded  where  had  just 
been  unaffected  gayety  and  hospitality. 

The  first  shot  had  cleared  the  street  of  all  except  the 
Onion  soldiers;  and  those  who  dared  to  peep  from  window 
or  door  saw,  with  dismay,  that  the  defenders  whom  they 
had  so  honored  and  welcomed  were  retreating  at  a  gallop 
from  the  Rebel  charge. 

They  were  soon  undeceived,  however,  for  at  a  gallop  the 
national  cavalry  dashed  into  an  open  field  near  by,  formed 
with  the  precision  of  machinery,  and  by  the  time  that  the 
Rebel  charge  had  welluigh  spent  itself  in  the  sabring  or 
capture  of  a  few  tardy  troopers,  Hilland  with  platoon  after 
platoon  was  emerging  upon  the  street  again  at  a  sharp  trot, 
which  soon  developed  into  a  furious  gallop  as  he  dashed 
against  their  assailants;  and  the  pretty  little  coquette,  bold 
not  only  in  love  but  in  war,  saw  from  a  window  her  ideal 
knight  with  her  red  rose  upon  his  breast  leading  a  charge 


AN   IMPROVISED    PICTURE    GALLERY  227 

whose  thunder  caused  the  very  earth  to  tremble;  and  she 
clapped  her  hands  and  cheered  so  loudly  as  he  approached 
that  he  looked  up,  saw  her,  and  for  an  instant  a  sunny 
smile  passed  over  the  visage  that  had  become  so  stern. 
Then  came  the  shock  of  battle. 

Graham's  company  was  held  in  reserve,  but  for  some 
reason  his  horse  seemed  to  grow  unmanageable;  and  sabres 
had  scarcely  clashed  before  he,  with  the  blade  on  which 
was  engraved  "Grace  Hilland,"  was  at  her  husband's  side, 
striking  blows  which  none  could  resist.  The  enemy  could 
not  stand  the  furious  onset,  and  gave  way  slowly,  sullenly, 
and  at  last  precipitately.  The  tide  of  battle  swept  beyond 
and  away  from  the  village;  and  its  street  became  quiet 
again,  except  for  the  groans  of  the  wounded. 

Mangled  horses,  mangled  men,  some  dead,  some  dying, 
and  others  almost  rejoicing  in  wounds  that  would  secure  for 
them  such  gentle  nurses,  strewed  the  streets  that  had  been 
the  scene  of  merry  festivity. 

The  pretty  little  belle  never  saw  her  tawny,  bearded 
knight  again.  She  undoubtedly  married  and  tormented 
some  well-to-do  dry-goods  clerk;  but  a  vision  of  a  man  of 
heroic  mold,  with  a  red  rose  upon  his  breast,  smiling  up 
to  her  just  as  he  was  about  to  face  what  might  be  death, 
will  thrill  her  feminine  soul  until  she  is  old  and  gray. 

That  night  Graham  and  Hilland  talked  and  laughed  over 
the  whole  affair  as  they  sat  by  a  camp-fire. 

"It  has  all  turned  out  as  usual,"  said  Graham,  ruefully. 
"You  won  a  victory  and  no  end  of  glory;  I  a  reprimand 
from  my  colonel." 

"If  you  have  received  nothing  worse  than  a  reprimand 
you  are  fortunate,"  was  Hilland' s  response.  "The  idea  of 
any  horse  becoming  unmanageable  in  your  hands!  The 
colonel  understands  the  case  as  well  as  I  do,  and  knows 
that  it  was  your  own  ravenous  appetite  for  a  fight  that  be 
came  unmanageable.  But  1  told  him  of  the  good  service 
you  rendered,  and  gave  him  the  wink  to  wink  also.  You 
were  fearfully  rash  to-day,  Graham.  You  were  not  content 


228  HIS    SOMBRE    RIVALS 

to  fight  at  my  side,  but  more  than  once  were  between  me 
and  the  enemy.  What  the  devil  makes  you  so  headlong  in 
a  fight — you  that  are  usually  so  cool  and  self -controlled  ?" 

Graham's  hand  rested  on  a  fair  woman's  name  engraved 
upon  his  sword,  but  he  replied  lightly:  "When  you  teach 
me  caution  in  a  fight  I'll  learn." 

"Well,  excuse  me,  old  fellow,  I'm  going  to  write  to 
Grace.  May  not  have  a  chance  very  soon  again.  I  say, 
Graham,  we'll  have  the  battle  of  the  war  in  a  day  or  two." 

"I  know  it,"  was  the  quiet  response. 

"And  we  must  win,  too,"  Hilland  continued,  "or  the 
Johnnies  will  help  themselves  to  Washington,  Baltimore, 
Philadelphia,  and  perhaps  New  York.  Every  man  should 
nerve  himself  to  do  the  work  of  two.  As  I  was  saying,  I 
shall  write  to  Grace  that  your  horse  ran  away  with  you 
and  became  uncontrollable  until  you  were  directly  in  front 
of  me,  when  you  seemed  to  manage  him  admirably,  and 
struck  blows  worthy  of  the  old  French  duellist  who  killed 
a  man  every  morning  before  breakfast.  I  think  she'll 
understand  your  sudden  and  amazingly  poor  horseman 
ship  as  well  as  I  do." 

She  did,  and  far  better. 

Hilland1  s  prediction  proved  true.  The  decisive  battle 
of  Gettysburg  was  fought,  and  its  bloody  field  marked  the 
highest  point  reached  by  the  crimson  tide  of  the  Eebellion. 
From  Cemetery  Ridge  it  ebbed  slowly  and  sullenly  away  to 
the  south. 

The.  brigade  in  which  were  the  friends  passed  through 
another  fearful  baptism  of  fire  in  the  main  conflict  and  the 
pursuit  which  followed,  and  were  in  Virginia  again,  but 
with  ranks  almost  decimated.  Graham  and  Hilland  still 
seemed  to  bear  charmed  lives,  and  in  the  brief  pause  in 
operations  that  followed,  wrote  cheerful  letters  to  those  so 
dear,  now  again  at  their  seaside  resort.  Grace,  who  for 
days  had  been  so  pale,  and  in  whose  dark  eyes  lurked  an 
ever-present  dread  of  which  she  could  not  speak,  smiled 
again.  Her  husband  wrote  in  exuberant  spirits  over  the 


AN   IMPROVISED    PICTURE    GALLERY  229 

victory,  and  signed  himself  "  Lieutenant- Colonel. "  Graham 
in  his  letter  said  jestingly  to  his  aunt  that  he  had  at  last 
attained  his  "majority,"  and  that  she  might  therefore  look 
for  a  little  more  discretion  on  his  part. 

"How  the  boys  are  coming  on!"  exulted  the  old  major. 
"They  will  both  wear  the  stars  yet.  But  confound  it  all, 
why  did  Meade  let  Lee  escape  ?  He  might  have  finished 
the  whole  thing  up. ' ' 

Alas!  the  immeasurable  price  of  liberty  was  not  yet 
paid. 

One  morning  Hilland's  and  Graham's  regiments  were 
ordered  out  on  what  was  deemed  but  a  minor  reconnais 
sance  ;  and  the  friends,  rested  and  strong,  started  in  high 
spirits  with  their  sadly  shrunken  forces.  But  they  knew 
that  the  remaining  handfuls  were  worth  more  than  full 
ranks  of  untrained,  unseasoned  men.  All  grow  callous,  if 
not  indifferent,  to  the  vicissitudes  of  war;  and  while  they 
missed  regretfully  many  familiar  faces,  the  thought  that 
they  had  rendered  the  enemy's  lines  more  meagre  was  con 
soling. 

Graham  and  Hilland  rode  much  of  the  long  day  together. 
They  went  over  all  the  past,  and  dwelt  upon  the  fact  that 
their  lives  had  been  so  different  from  what  they  had 
planned. 

"By  the  way,  Graham,"  said  Hilland,  abruptly,  "it 
seems  strange  to  me  that  you  are  so  indifferent  to  women. 
Don't  you  expect  ever  to  marry  ?" 

Graham  burst  into  a  laugh  as  he  replied:  "I  thought  we 
had  that  subject  out  years  ago,  under  the  apple-tree — that 
night,  you  remember,  when  you  talked  like  a  schoolgirl 
till  morning — " 

"And  you  analyzed  and  philosophized  till  long  after 
midnight — " 

"Well,  you  knew  then  that  Grace  had  spoiled  me  for 
every  one  else;  and  she's  been  improving  ever  since. 
When  I  find  her  equal  I'll  marry  her,  if  I  can." 

"Poor,  forlorn  old  bachelor  that  you  are,  and  ever  will 


230  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

be!"  cried  Hilland.  "You'll  never  find  the  equal  of  Grace 
Hilland." 

"I  think  I  shall  survive,  Hilland.  My  appetite  is  good. 
As  I  live,  there  are  some  Confederates  in  yonder  clump  of 
trees;"  and  he  put  spurs  to  his  horse  on  a  little  private 
reconnaissance.  The  few  horsemen  vanished,  in  the  thick 
woods  beyond,  the  moment  they  saw  that  they  were  per 
ceived;  and  they  were  regarded  as  prowling  guerillas  only. 

That  night  they  bivouacked  in  a  grove  where  two  roads 
intersected,  threw  out  pickets  and  patrols,  and  kindled  their 
fires,  for  they  did  not  expect  to  strike  the  enemy  in  force 
till  some  time  on  the  following  day. 


A   DREAM  231 


CHAPTER   XXVII 

A   DREAM 

GRAHAM  and  his  friend  had  bidden  each  other  an 
early  and  cordial  good-night,  for  the  entire  force 
under  the  command  of  flilland's  colonel  was  to  re 
sume  its  march  with  the  dawn.  Although  no  immediate 
danger  was  apprehended,  caution  had  been  learned  by 
long  experience.  The  detachment  was  comparatively  small, 
and  it  was  far  removed  from  any  support;  and  while  no 
hints  of  the  presence  of  the  enemy  in  formidable  numbers 
had  been  obtained  during  the  day,  what  was  beyond  them 
could  not  be  known  with  any  certainty.  Therefore  the 
horses  had  been  carefully  rubbed  down,  and  the  saddles 
replaced.  In  many  instances  the  bridles  also  had  been  put 
on  again,  with  the  bit  merely  slipped  from  the  mouth.  la 
all  cases  they  lay  or  hung  within  reach  of  the  tired  troop 
ers,  who,  one  after  another,  were  dropping  off  into  the  cat 
like  slumber  of  a  cavalry  outpost 

As  the  fires  died  down,  the  shadows  in  the  grove  grew 
deeper  and  more  obscure,  and  all  was  quiet,  except  when 
the  hours  came  round  for  the  relief  of  pickets  and  the  men 
who  were  patrolling  the  roads.  Graham  remembered  the 
evanescent  group  of  Confederates  toward  whom  he  had 
spurred  during  the  day.  He  knew  that  they  were  in  a 
hostile  region,  and  that  their  movements  must  be  already 
well  known  to  the  enemy  if  strong  in  their  vicinity.  There 
fore  all  his  instincts  as  a  soldier  were  on  the  alert.  It  so 
happened  that  he  was  second  in  command  of  his  regiment 
on  this  occasion,  and  he  felt  the  responsibility.  He  had 


232  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

been  his  own  groom  on  their  arrival  at  the  grove,  and  his 
faithful  charger,  Mayburn,  now  stood  saddled  and  bridled 
by  his  side,  as  he  reclined,  half  dozing,  again  thinking 
deeply,  by  the  low,  flickering  blaze  of  his  fire.  He  had 
almost  wholly  lost  the  gloomy  presentiments  that  had  op 
pressed  him  at  the  beginning  of  the  year.  Both  he  and 
Hilland  had  passed  through  so  many  dangers  that  a  sense 
of  security  was  begotten.  Still  more  potent  had  been  the 
influence  of  his  active  out-of-door  life.  His  nerves  were 
braced,  while  his  soldier's  routine  and  the  strong  excite 
ment  of  the  campaign  had  become  a  preoccupying  habit. 

Only  those  who  brood  in  idleness  over  the  misfortunes 
and  disappointments  of  life  are  destroyed  by  them. 

He  had  not  seen  Grace  for  over  half  a  year;  and  while 
she  was  and  ever  would  be  his  fair  ideal,  he  could  now 
think  of  her  with  the  quietude  akin  to  that  of  the  devout 
Catholic  who  worships  a  saint  removed  from  him  at  a 
heavenly  distance.  The  wisdom  of  this  remoteness  became 
more  and  more  clear  to  him;  for  despite  every  power  that 
he  could  put  forth  as  a  man,  there  was  a  deeper,  stronger 
manhood  within  him  which  acknowledged  this  woman  as 
sovereign.  He  foresaw  that  his  lot  would  be  one  of  com 
parative  exile,  and  he  accepted  it  with  a  calm  and  inflexible 
resolution. 

Hearing  a  step  he  started  up  hastily,  and  saw  Hilland 
appoaching  from  the  opposite  side  of  his  fire. 

"Ah,  Graham,  glad  you  are  not  asleep,"  said  his  friend, 
throwing  himself  down  on  the  leaves,  with  his  head  resting 
on  his  hands.  "Put  a  little  wood  on  the  fire,  please;  I'm 
chilly  in  the  night  air,  and  the  dews  are  so  confoundedly 
heavy." 

"Why,  Hilland,  what's  the  matter?"  Graham  asked,  as 
he  complied.  "You  are  an  ideal  cavalryman  at  a  nap,  and 
can  sleep  soundly  with  one  eye  open.  It  has  seemed  to  me 
that  you  never  lost  a  wink  when  there  was  a  chance  for  it, 
even  under  fire. ' ' 

"Why  are  you  not  sleeping?" 


A    DREAM  233 

"Oh,  I  have  been,  after  my  fashion,  dozing  and  thinking 
by  turns.  I  always  was  an  owl,  you  know.  Moreover,  I 
think  it  behooves  us  to  be  on  the  alert.  We  are  a  good  way 
from  support  if  hard  pressed;  and  the  enemy  must  be  in 
force  somewhere  to  the  west  of  us." 

"I've  thought  as  much  myself.  My  horse  is  ready,  as 
yours  is,  and  I  left  an  orderly  holding  him.  I  suppose  you 
will  laugh  at  me,  but  I've  had  a  cursed  dream;  and  it  has 
shaken  me  in  spite  of  my  reason.  After  all,  how  often  our 
reason  fails  us  at  a  pinch !  I  wish  it  was  morning  and  we 
were  on  the  road.  I've  half  a  mind  to  go  out  with  the 
patrols  and  get  my  blood  in  circulation.  I  would  were  it 
not  that  I  feel  I  should  be  with  my  men. ' ' 

"Where's  your  colonel  ?" 

"The  old  war-dog  is  sleeping  like  a  top.  Nothing  ever 
disturbs  him,  much  less  a  dream.  I  say,  Graham,  I  made 
a  good  selection  in  him,  didn't  I?" 

"Yes,  but  he'll  be  promoted  soon,  and  you  will  be  in 
command.  What's  more,  I  expect  to  see  a  star  on  your 
shoulder  in  less  than  six  months. ' ' 

"As  I  feel  to-night,  I  don't  care  a  picayune  for  stars  or 
anything  else  relating  to  the  cursed  war.  I'd  give  my  for 
tune  to  be  able  to  kiss  Grace  and  tell  her  I'm  well." 

"You  are  morbid,  Hilland.  You  will  feel  differently 
to-morrow,  especially  if  there's  a  chance  for  a  charge." 

"No  doubt,  no  doubt.  The  shadow  of  this  confounded 
grove  seems  as  black  as  death,  and  it  oppresses  me.  Why 
should  I,  without  apparent  cause,  have  had  such  a  dream?" 

"Your  supper  and  fatigue  may  have  been  the  cause. 
If  you  don't  mind,  tell  me  this  grisly  vision." 

' '  While  you  laugh  at  me  as  an  old  woman — you,  in 
whom  reason  ever  sits  serene  and  dispassionate  on  her 
throne,  except  when  you  get  into  a  fight." 

"My  reason's  throne  is  often  as  rickety  as  a  two-legged 
stool.  No,  I  won't  laugh  at  you.  There's  not  a  braver 
man  in  the  service  than  you.  If  you  feel  as  you  say,  there's 
some  cause  for  it;  and  yet  so  complex  is  our  organism  that 


234  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

both  cause  and  effect  may  not  be  worthy  of  very  grave  con 
sideration,  as  I  have  hinted." 

"Think  what  you  please,  this  was  my  dream.  I  had 
made  my  dispositions  for  the  night,  and  went  to  sleep  as 
a  matter  of  course.  I  had  not  slept  an  hour  by  my  watch 
— I  looked  at  it  afterward — when  I  seemed  to  hear  some  one 
moaning  and  crying,  and  I  thought  I  started  up  wide  awake, 
and  I  saw  the  old  library  at  home — the  room  you  know  so 
well.  Every  article  of  furniture  was  before  me  more  dis 
tinctly  than  I  can  see  any  object  now,  and  on  the  rug  before 
the  open  fire  Grace  was  crouching,  while  she  moaned  and 
wrung  her  hands  and  cried  as  if  her  heart  was  breaking. 
She  was  dressed  in  black — Oh,  how  white  her  hands  and 
neck  and  face  appeared  against  that  mournful  black ! — and, 
strangest  of  all,  her  hair  fell  around  her  snowy  white,  like  a 
silver  veil.  I  started  forward  to  clasp  her  in  my  arms,  and 
then  truly  awoke,  for  there  was  nothing  before  me  but  my 
drooping  horse,  a  few  red  coals  of  my  expiring  fire,  and 
over  all  the  black,  black  shadow  of  this  accursed  grove. 
Oh,  for  sunlight !  Oh,  for  a  gale  of  wind,  that  I  might  breathe 
freely  again !"  and  the  powerful  man  sprang  to  his  feet  and 
threw  open  his  coat  at  his  breast. 

As  he  ceased  speaking,  the  silence  and  darkness  of  the 
grove  did  seem  ominous  and  oppressive,  and  Graham's  old 
wretched  presentiment  of  Christmas  morning  returned,  but 
he  strove  with  all  the  ingenuity  in  his  power  to  reason  his 
friend  out  of  his  morbid  mood,  as  he  termed  it.  He  kindled 
his  fire  into  a  cheerful  blaze,  and  Hilland  cowered  and  shiv 
ered  over  it;  then  looking  up  abruptly,  he  said,  "Graham, 
you  and  I  accepted  the  belief  long  ago  that  man  was  only 
highly  organized  matter.  I  must  admit  to  you  that  my 
mind  has  often  revolted  at  this  belief;  and  the  thought  that 
Grace  was  merely  of  the  earth  has  always  seemed  to  me  sac 
rilegious.  She  never  was  what  you  would  call  a  religious 
girl;  but  she  once  had  a  quiet,  simple  faith  in  a  God  and  a 
hereafter,  and  she  expected  to  see  her  mother  again.  I 
fear  that  our  views  have  troubled  her  exceedingly;  although 


A    DREAM  235 

with  that  rare  reserve  in  a  woman,  she  never  interfered  with 
one's  strong  personal  convictions.  The  shallow  woman  tries 
to  set  everybody  right  with  the  weighty  reason,  'Oh,  because 
it  is  so;  all  good  people  say  it  is  so.'  I  fear  our  views  have 
unsettled  hers  also.  I  wish  they  had  not;  indeed  I  wish 
I  could  believe  somewhat  as  she  did. 

"Once,  only  once,  she  spoke  to  me  with  a  strange  bitter 
ness,  but  it  revealed  the  workings  of  her  mind.  I,  perhaps, 
was  showing  a  little  too  much  eagerness  in  my  spirit  and 
preparation  for  active  service,  and  she  broke  out  abruptly, 
'Oh,  yes,  you  and  Alford  can  rush  into  scenes  of  carnage 
very  complacently.  You  believe  that  if  the  bullet  is  only 
sure  enough,  your  troubles  are  over  forever,  as  Alford  once 
said.  I  suppose  you  are  right,  for  you  learned  men  have 
studied  into  things  as  we  poor  women  never  can.  If  it's 
true,  those  who  love  as  we  do  should  die  together.'  It  has 
often  seemed  that  her  very  love — nay,  that  mine — was  an 
argument  against  our  belief.  That  a  feeling  so  pure,  vivid, 
and  unselfish,  so  devoid  of  mere  earthiness — a  feeling  that 
apparently  contains  within  itself  the  very  essence  of  immor 
tality — can  be  instantly  blotted  out  as  a  flame  is  extin 
guished,  has  become  a  terrible  thought  Grace  Hilland  is 
worthy  of  an  immortal  life,  and  she  has  all  the  capacity  for 
it.  It's  not  her  lovely  form  and  face  that  I  love  so  much 
as  the  lovely  something — call  it  soul,  spirit,  or  what  you 
choose — that  will  maintain  her  charm  through  all  the 
changes  from  youth  to  feeble  and  withered  age.  How 
can  I  be  sure  that  the  same  gentle,  womanly  spirit  may  not 
exist  after  the  final  change  we  call  death,  and  that  to  those 
worthy  of  immortal  life  the  boon  is  not  given  ?  Eeason  is 
a  grand  thing,  and  1  know  we  once  thought  we  settled  this 
question;  but  reason  fails  me  to-night,  or  else  love  and  the 
intense  longings  of  the  heart  teach  a  truer  and  deeper 
philosophy — 

"You  are  silent,  Graham.  You  think  me  morbid — that 
wishes  are  fathers  of  my  thoughts.  Well,  I'm  not  I  hon 
estly  don't  know  what  the  truth  is.  I  only  wish  to-night 


236  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

that  I  had  the  simple  belief  in  a  reunion  with  Grace  which 
she  had  with  regard  to  her  mother.  I  fear  we  have  unset 
tled  her  faith;  not  that  we  ever  urged  our  views — indeed 
we  have  scarcely  ever  spoken  of  them — but  there  has  been 
before  her  the  ever-present  and  silent  force  of  example.  It 
was  natural  for  her  to  believe  that  those  were  right  in  whom 
she  most  believed;  and  I'm  not  sure  we  are  right — I'm  not 
sure.  I've  not  been  sure  for  a  long  time. " 

"My  dear  Warren,  you  are  not  well.  Exposure  to  all 
sorts  of  weather  in  this  malarial  country  is  telling  on  you; 
and  I  fear  your  feelings  to-night  are  the  prelude  of  a  fever. 
You  shall  stay  and  sleep  by  my  fire,  and  if  I  hear  the 
slightest  suspicious  sound  I  will  waken  you.  You  need 
not  hesitate,  for  I  intend  to  watch  till  morning,  whether 
you  stay  or  not" 

"Well,  Graham,  I  will.  I  wish  to  get  through  this  hor 
rible  night  in  the  quickest  way  possible.  But  I'll  first  go 
and  bring  my  horse  here,  so  the  poor  orderly  can  have 
a  nap." 

He  soon  returned  and  lay  down  close  to  the  genial  fire, 
and  Graham  threw  over  him  his  own  blankets. 

"What  a  good,  honest  friend  you  are,  Graham! — too 
honest  even  to  say  some  hollow  words  favoring  my  doubts 
of  my  doubt  and  unbelief.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  you,  I 
should  have  been  dead  long  ago.  In  my  blind  confidence, 
I  should  have  rushed  into  the  war,  and  probably  should 
have  been  knocked  on  the  head  at  Bull  Eun.  How  many 
happy  months  I've  passed  with  Grace  since  then! — how 
many  since  you  virtually  gave  your  life  for  me  last  autumn ' 
You  made  sure  that  I  took  a  man's,  not  a  fool's,  part  in  the 
war.  Oh,  Grace  and  I  know  it  all  and  appreciate  it;  and 
— and — Alford,  if  I  should  fall,  I  commend  Grace  to  your 
care." 

"Hilland,  stop,  or  you  will  unman  me.  This  accursed 
grove  is  haunted,  I  half  believe;  and  were  I  in  command 
I  would  order  'Boots  and  Saddles'  to  be  sounded  at  once. 
There,  sleep,  Warren,  and  in  the  morning  you  will  be  your 


A    DREAM  237 

own  grand  self.  Why  speak  of  anything  1  could  do  for  you 
and  Grace?  How  could  I  serve  myself  in  any  surer  way? 
As  schoolgirls  say,  'I  won't  speak  to  you  again.'  I'm 
going  to  prowl  around  a  little,  and  see  that  all  is  right;" 
and  he  disappeared  among  the  shadowy  boles  of  the 
trees. 

When  he  returned  from  his  rounds  his  friend  was  sleep 
ing,  but  uneasily,  with  sudden  fits  and  starts. 

"He  is  surely  going  to  have  a  fever,"  Graham  muttered. 
"I'd  give  a  year's  pay  if  we  were  safe  back  in  camp."  He 
stood  before  the  fire  with  folded  arms,  watching  his  boy 
hood's  friend,  his  gigantic  shadow  stretching  away  into  the 
obscurity  as  unwaveringly  as  those  of  the  tree- trunks  around 
him.  His  lips  were  compressed.  He  sought  to  make  his 
will  as  inflexible  as  his  form.  He  would  not  think  of  Grace, 
of  danger  to  her  and  Hilland;  and  yet,  by  some  horrible 
necromancy  of  the  hour  and  place,  the  scene  in  Hilland's 
dream  would  rise  before  him  with  a  vividness  that  was  over 
awing.  In  the  sighing  of  the  wind  through  the  foliage,  he 
seemed  to  hear  the  poor  wife's  moans,, 

"Oh,"  he  muttered,  "would  that  1  could  die  a  thousand 
deaths  to  prevent  a  scene  like  that!" 

When  would  the  interminable  night  pass?  At  last  he 
looked  at  his  watch  and  saw  that  the  dawn  could  not  be  far 
distant.  How  still  everything  had  become !  The  men  were 
in  their  deepest  slumber.  Even  the  wind  had  died  out,  and 
the  silence  was  to  his  overwrought  mind  likrf  the  hush  of 
expectancy. 

This  silence  was  at  last  broken  by  a  shot  on  the  road  lead 
ing  to  the  west.  Other  shots  followed  in  quick  succession. 

Hilland  was  on  his  feet  instantly.  "We're  attacked," 
lie  shouted,  and  was  about  to  spring  upon  his  horse  when 
Graham  grasped  his  hand  in  both  of  his  as  he  said,  "In  the 
name  of  Grace  Hilland,  be  prudent." 

Then  both  the  men  were  in  the  saddle,  Hilland  dashing 
toward  his  own  command,  and  each  shouting,  "Awake I 
Mountl" 


238  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

At  the  same  instant  the  bugle  from  headquarters  rang 
through  the  grove,  giving  the  well-known  order  of  "Boots 
and  Saddles." 

In  place  of  the  profound  stillness  of  a  moment  before, 
there  were  a  thousand  discordant  sounds — the  trampling  of 
feet,  the  jingling  of  sabres,  the  champing  of  bits  by  aroused, 
restless  horses  that  understood  the  bugle  call  as  well  as  the 
men,  hoarse,  rapid  orders  of  officers,  above  all  which  in  the 
distance  could  be  heard  Hilland's  clarion  voice. 

Again  and  again  from  headquarters  the  brief,  musical 
strains  of  the  bugle  echoed  through  the  gloom,  each  one 
giving  to  the  veterans  a  definite  command.  Within  four 
minutes  there  was  a  line  of  battle  on  the  western  edge  of 
the  grove,  and  a  charging  column  was  in  the  road  leading 
to  the  west,  down  which  the  patrols  were  galloping  at  a 
headlong  pace.  Pickets  were  rushing  in,  firing  as  they 
came.  To  the  uninitiated  it  might  have  seemed  a  scene 
of  dire  confusion.  In  fact,  it  was  one  of  perfect  order  and 
discipline.  Even  in  the  darkness  each  man  knew  just  what 
to  do  and  where  to  go,  as  he  heard  the  bugle  calls  and  the 
stern,  brief,  supplementary  orders  of  the  officers. 

Graham  found  himself  on  the  line  of  battle  at  the  right 
of  the  road,  and  the  sound  that  followed  close  upon  the 
sharp  gallop  of  the  patrol  was  ominous  indeed.  It  was 
the  rushing,  thunderous  sound  of  a  heavy  body  of  cavalry 
— too  heavy,  his  ear  soon  foretold  him,  to  promise  equal 
battle. 

The  experienced  colonel  recognized  the  fact  at  the  same 
moment,  and  would  not  leave  his  men  in  the  road  to  meet 
the  furious  onset.  Again,  sharp,  quick,  and  decisive  as  the 
vocal  order  had  been,  the  bugle  rang  out  the  command  for 
a  change  of  position.  Its  strains  had  not  ceased  when  the 
officers  were  repeating  the  order  all  down  the  column  that 
had  been  formed  in  the  read  for  a  charge,  and  scarcely  a 
moment  elapsed  before  the  western  pike  was  clear,  and 
faced  by  a  line  of  battle  a  little  back  among  the  trees. 
The  Union  force  would  now  ask  nothing  better  than  that 


A    DREAM  239 

•jhe  enemy  should  charge  down  that  road  within  pointblank 
range. 

If  the  Nationals  were  veterans  they  were  also  dealing 
with  veterans  who  were  masters  of  the  situation  in  their 
overwhelming  force  and  their  knowledge  of  the  compara 
tive  insignificance  of  their  opponents,  whose  numbers  had 
been  quite  accurately  estimated  the  day  before. 

The  patrols  were  already  within  the  Union  lines  and  at 
their  proper  places  when  the  Confederate  column  emerged 
into  the  narrow  open  space  before  the  grove.  Its  advance 
had  subsided  into  a  sharp  trot;  but,  instead  of  charging  by 
column  or  platoon,  the  enemy  deployed  to  right  and  left 
with  incredible  swiftness.  Men  dismounted  and  formed  into 
line  almost  instantly,  their  gray  forms  looking  phantom-like 
in  the  gray  dawn  that  tinged  the  east. 

The  vigilant  colonel  was  as  prompt  as  they,  and  at  the 
rirst  evidence  of  their  tactics  the  bugle  resounded,  and  the 
line  of  battle  facing  the  road  which  led  westward  wheeled 
at  a  gallop  through  the  open  trees  and  formed  at  right  angles 
with  the  road  behind  the  first  line  of  battle.  Again  there 
was  a  bugle  call.  The  men  in  both  lines  dismounted  in 
stantly,  and  as  their  horses  were  being  led  to  the  rear  by 
those  designated  for  the  duty,  a  Union  volley  was  poured 
into  the  Confederate  line  that  had  scarcely  formed,  causing 
many  a  gap.  Then  the  first  Union  line  retired  behind  the 
second,  loading  as  they  went,  and,  with  the  ready  instinct 
of  old  fighters,  putting  trees  between  themselves  and  the 
swiftly  advancing  foe  while  forming  a  third  line  of  battle. 
From  the  second  Union  line  a  deadly  volley  blazed  in  the 
dim  obscurity  of  the  woods.  It  had  no  perceptible  effect 
in  checking  the  impetuous  onset  of  the  enemy,  who  merely 
returned  the  fire  as  they  advanced. 

The  veteran  colonel,  with  cool  alertness,  saw  that  he  was 
far  outnumbered,  and  that  his  assailants'  tactics  were  to  drive 
him  through  the  grove  into  the  open  fields,  where  his  com 
mand  would  be  speedily  dispersed  and  captured.  His  only 
chance  was  to  run  for  it  and  get  the  start.  Indeed  the  ob- 


240  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

ject  of  his  reconnoissance  seemed  already  accomplished,  for 
the  enemy  was  found  to  be  in  force  in  that  direction.  There 
fore,  as  he  galloped  to  the  rear  his  bugler  sounded  ".Retreat" 
long  and  shrilly. 

The  dim  Union  lines  under  the  trees  melted  away  as  by 
magic,  and  a  moment  later  there  was  a  rush  of  horses  through 
the  underbrush  that  fringed  the  eastern  side  of  the  grove. 
But  some  men  were  shot,  some  sabred,  and  others  captured 
before  they  could  mount  and  extricate  themselves.  The 
majority,  however,  of  the  Union  forces  were  galloping 
swiftly  away,  scattering  at  first  rather  than  keeping  to 
gether,  in  order  to  distract  the  pursuit  which  for  a  time 
was  sharp  and  deadly.  Not  a  few  succumbed;  others 
would  turn  on  their  nearest  pursuer  in  mortal  combat, 
which  was  soon  decided  in  one  way  or  the  other.  Graham 
more  than  once  wheeled  and  confronted  an  isolated  foe,  and 
the  sword  bearing  the  name  of  the  gentle  Grace  Hilland  was 
bloody  indeed. 

All  the  while  his  eye  was  ranging  the  field  for  Hilland, 
and  with  his  fleet  steed,  that  could  soon  have  carried  him 
beyond  all  danger,  he  diverged  to  right  and  left,  as  far  as 
their  headlong  retreat  permitted,  in  his  vain  search  for  his 
friend. 

Suddenly  the  bugle  from  the  Confederate  side  sounded  a 
recall.  The  enemy  halted,  fired  parting  shots,  and  retired 
briskly  over  the  field,  gathering  up  the  wounded  and  the 
prisoners.  The  Union  forces  drew  together  on  a  distant 
eminence,  from  which  the  bugler  of  the  colonel  in  com 
mand  was  blowing  a  lively  call  to  rendezvous. 

"Where,  Hilland?"  cried  Graham,  dashing  up. 

The  colonel  removed  a  cigar  from  his  mouth  and  said, 
4lHaven't  seen  him  since  I  ordered  the  retreat.  Don't 
worry.  He'll  be  here  soon.  Hilland  is  sure  to  come  out 
all  right.  It's  a  way  he  has.  'Twas  a  rather  rapid  change 
of  base,  Major  Graham.  That  the  enemy  should  have  ceased 
their  pursuit  so  abruptly  puzzles  me.  Ah,  here  comes  your 
colonel,  and  when  Hilland  puts  in  an  appearance  we  must 


A    DREAM  241 

hold  a  brief  council,  although  I  suppose  there  is  nothing 
left  for  us  but  to  make  our  way  back  to  camp  and  report 
as  speedily  as  possible.  I'd  like  to  come  back  with  a  divi 
sion,  and  turn  the  tables  on  those  fellows.  I  believe  we 
fought  a  divis — " 

4 'Hilland  I"  shouted  Graham,  in  a  voice  that  drowned 
the  colonel's  words,  and  echoed  far  and  wide. 

There  was  no  answer,  and  the  fugitives  were  nearly 
all  in. 

Graham  galloped  out  beyond  the  last  lagging  trooper, 
and  with  a  cry  that  smote  the  hearts  of  those  that  heard  it 
he  shouted,  "Hilland!"  and  strained  his  eyes  in  every  di 
rection.  There  was  no  response — no  form  in  view  that  re 
sembled  his  friend. 

At  wild  speed  he  returned  and  rode  among  Hi  Hand 'a 
command.  His  manner  was  so  desperate  that  he  drew  all 
eyes  upon  him,  and  none  seemed  able  or  willing  to  answer. 
At  last  a  man  said,  "I  heard  his  voice  just  as  we  were  break 
ing  from  that  cursed  grove,  and  I've  seen  or  heard  nothing 
of  him  since.  I  supposed  he  was  on  ahead  with  the  col 
onel;"  and  that  was  all  the  information  that  could  be 
obtained. 

The  men  looked  very  downcast,  for  Hilland  was  almost 
idolized  by  them.  Graham  saw  that  there  was  an  eager 
quest  of  information  among  themselves,  and  he  waited  with 
feverish  impatience  for  further  light;  but  nothing  could  be 
elicited  from  officers  or  privates  beyond  the  fact  that  fill- 
land  had  been  bravely  doing  his  duty  up  to  the  moment 
when,  as  one  of  the  captains  said,  "It  was  a  scramble,  'each 
man  for  himself,  and  the  devil  take  the  hindmost.'  " 

As  long  as  there  had  been  a  gleam  of  hope  that  Hilland 
had  escaped  with  the  rest,  Graham  had  been  almost  beside 
himself  in  his  feverish  impatience. 

He  now  rode  to  where  the  two  colonels  were  standing, 
and  the  senior  began  rapidly,  "Major  Graham,  we  sympa 
thize  with  you  deeply.  We  all,  and  indeed  the  army,  have 
sustained  a  severe  loss  in  even  the  temporary  absence  of 
K-BOB— XIII 


Z42  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

Lieutenant-Colonel  Hilland;  for  I  will  not  be-lieve  that 
worse  has  happened  than  a  wound  and  brief  captivity. 
The  enemy  has  acted  peculiarly.  I  have  fears  that  they 
may  be  flanking  us  and  trying  to  intercept  us  on  some  par 
allel  road.  Therefore  I  shall  order  that  we  return  to  camp 
in  the  quickest  possible  time.  Good  God,  Graham!  don't 
take  it  so  to  heart.  You've  no  proof  that  Hilland  is  dead. 
You  look  desperate,  man.  Come,  remember  that  you  are  a 
soldier  and  that  Hilland  was  one  too.  We've  had  to  dis 
count  such  experiences  from  the  start." 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Graham,  in  a  low,  concentrated  voice, 
and  touching  his  hat  to  the  two  colonels,  "I  am  under  the 
command  of  you  both — one  as  my  superior  officer,  the  other 
as  leader  of  the  expedition.  I  ask  permission  to  return  in 
search  of  my  friend. ' ' 

"I  forbid  it,"  they  both  cried  simultaneously,  while  the 
senior  officer  continued,  "Graham,  you  are  beside  yourself. 
It  would  be  almost  suicide  to  go  back.  It  would  certainly 
result  in  your  capture,  while  there  is  not  one  chance  in  a 
thousand  that  you  could  do  Hilland  any  good." 

Graham  made  no  immediate  reply,  but  was  studying  the 
ill-omened  grove  with  his  glass.  After  a  moment  he  said, 
"I  do  not  think  there  will  be  any  further  pursuit.  The  en 
emy  are  retiring  from  the  grove.  My  explanation  of  their 
conduct  is  this:  There  is  some  large  decisive  movement  in 
progress,  and  we  were  merely  brushed  out  of  the  way  that 
we  might  learn  nothing  of  it.  My  advice  is  that  we  retain 
this  commanding  ^position,  throw  out  scouts  on  every  side, 
and  I  doubt  whether  we  find  anything  beyond  a  small  rear 
guard  in  ten  miles  of  us  within  a  few  hours." 

"Your  anxiety  for  your  friend  warps  your  judgment, 
and  it  is  contrary  to  my  instructions,  which  were  simply  to 
learn  if  there  was  any  considerable  force  of  the  enemy  in 
this  region.  Your  explanation  of  the  enemy's  conduct  is 
plausible,  and  has  already  occurred  to  me  as  a  possibility. 
If  it  be  the  true  explanation,  all  the  more  reason  that  we 
should  return  promptly  and  report  what  we  know  and  what 


A    DREAM  243 

we  surmise.     I  shall  therefore  order  'Retreat'  to  be  sounded 
at  once." 

"And  I,  Major  Graham,"  said  his  own  colonel,  "must 
add,  that  while  you  have  my  sympathy,  I  nevertheless 
order  you  to  your  place  in  the  march.  Rather  than  permit 
you  to  carry  out  your  mad  project,  i  would  place  you  under 
arrest." 

"Gentlemen,  1  cannot  complain  of  your  course,  or  criti 
cise  your  military  action.  You  are  in  a  better  condition  of 
mind  to  judge  what  is  wise  than  J ;  and  under  ordinary  cir 
cumstances  I  would  submit  without  a  word.  But  the  cir 
cumstances  are  extraordinary.  Hilland  has  been  my  friend 
since  boyhood.  I  will  not  remain  in  suspense  as  to  his  fate; 
much  less  will  I  leave  his  wife  and  friends  in  suspense.  I 
know  that  disobedience  of  orders  in  the  face  of  the  enemy 
is  one  of  the  gravest  ofiences,  but  I  must  disobey  them,  be 
the  consequences  what  they  may. ' ' 

As  he  wheeled  his  horse,  his  colonel  cried,  "Stop  him. 
He's  under  arrest!"  But  May  burn,  feeling  the  touch  of  the 
spur,  sprang  into  his  fleet  gallop,  and  they  might  as  well 
have  pursued  a  bird. 

They  saw  this  at  once,  and  the  colonel  in  command  only 

growled,  " this  reconnoissance.    Here  we've  lost  two  of 

the  finest  officers  in  the  brigade,  as  well  as  some  of  our  best 
men.     Sound  '  Retreat. '  ' ' 

There  was  a  hesitancy,  and  a  wild  impulse  among  Hil 
land' s  men  to  follow  Graham  to  the  rescue,  but  it  was  sternly 
repressed  by  their  officers,  and  the  whole  command  was  with 
in  a  few  moments  on  a  sharp  trot  toward  camp. 


244  SIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

ITS   FULFILMENT 

G  BAH AM  soon  slackened  his  pace  when  he  found 
that  he  was  not  pursued,  and  as  his  friends  disap 
peared  he  returned  warily  to  the  brow  of  the  emi 
nence  and  watched  their  rapid  march  away  from  the  ill-fated 
locality.  He  rode  over  the  brow  of  the  hill  as  if  he  was  fol 
lowing,  for  he  had  little  doubt  that  the  movements  of  the 
Union  force  were  watched.  Having  tied  his  horse  where  he 
could  not  be  seen  from  the  grove,  he  crept  back  behind  a 
sheltering  bush,  and  with  his  glass  scanned  the  scene  of 
conflict.  In  the  road  leading  through  the  grove  there  were 
ambulances  removing  the  wounded.  At  last  these  disap 
peared,  and  there  was  not  a  living  object  in  sight.  He 
watched  a  little  longer,  and  buzzards  began  to  wheel  over 
and  settle  upon  the  battleground— sure  evidence  that  for 
the  time  it  was  deserted. 

He  hesitated  no  longer.  Mounting  his  horse  he  contin 
ued  down  the  hill  so  as  to  be  screened  from  any  possible  ob 
servers,  then  struck  off  to  his  left  to  a  belt  of  woods  that  ex 
tended  well  up  to  the  vicinity  of  the  grove.  Making  his  way 
through  this  bit  of  forest,  he  soon  came  to  an  old  wood-road 
partially  grown  up  with  bushes,  and  pushed  his  way  rapidly 
back  toward  the  point  he  wished  to  attain.  Having  ap 
proached  the  limits  of  the  belt  of  woods,  he  tied  his  horse 
in  a  thicket,  listened,  then  stole  to  the  edge  nearest  the 
grove.  It  appeared  deserted.  Crouching  along  a  rail  fence 
with  revolver  in  hand,  he  at  last  reached  its  fatal  shade,  and 
pushing  through  its  fringe  of  lower  growth,  peered  cau- 


ITS   FULFILMENT  245 

tiouslj  around.  Here  and  there  he  saw  a  lifeless  body  or 
a  struggling,  wounded  horse,  over  which  the  buzzards  hov 
ered,  or  on  which  they  had  already  settled.  Disgusting  as 
was  their  presence,  they  reassured  him,  and  he  boldly  and 
yet  with  an  awful  dread  at  heart  began  his  search,  scanning 
with  rapid  eye  each  prostrate  form  along  the  entire  back 
edge  of  the  grove  through  which  the  Union  forces  had  burst 
in  their  swift  retreat. 

He  soon  passed  beyond  all  traces  of  conflict,  and  then  re 
traced  his  steps,  uttering  half-unconsciously  and  in  a  tone  of 
anguish  his  friend's  name.  As  he  approached  what  had  been 
the  extreme  right  of  the  Union  line  in  their  retreat,  and  their 
left  in  the  advance,  he  beheld  a  dead  horse  that  looked  fa 
miliar.  He  sprang  forward  and  saw  that  it  was  Hil land's. 

"Hilland!  Warren!"  he  shouted,  wild  with  awful  fore 
boding. 

From  a  dense  thicket  near  he  head  a  feeble  groan.  Rush 
ing  into  it,  he  stumbled  against  the  immense  mossy  trunk 
of  a  prostrate,  decaying  tree.  Concealed  beyond  it  lay  his 
friend,  apparently  dying. 

"Oh,  Warren!"  he  cried,  "my  friend,  my  brother,  don't 
you  know  me?  Oh,  live,  live!  I  can  rescue  you." 

There  was  no  response  from  the  slowly  gasping  man. 

Graham  snatched  a  flask  from  his  pocket  and  wet  the 
pallid  lips  with  brandy,  and  then  caused  Hilland  to  swal 
low  a  little.  The  stimulant  kindled  for  a  few  moments  the 
flame  of  life,  and  the  dying  man  slowly  became  conscious. 

"Graham,"  he  murmured  feebly — "Graham,  is  that 
you?" 

"Yes,  yes,  and  I'll  save  you  yet.  Oh,  in  the  name  of 
Grace,  I  adjure  you  to  live." 

"Alas  for  Grace!     My  dream — will  come  true." 

"Oh,  Hilland,  no,  no!  Oh,  that  I  could  die  in  your 
place!  What  is  my  life  to  yours!  Rally,  Warren,  rally. 
My  fleet  horse  is  tied  near,  or  if  you  are  too  badly  wounded 
I  will  stay  and  nurse  you.  I'll  fire  a  pistol  shot  through  my 
arm,  and  then  we  can  be  sent  to  the  hospital  together. 


246  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

Here,  take  more  brandy.  That's  right.  With  your  phy 
sique  you  should  not  think  of  death.  Let  me  lift  you  up 
and  stanch  your  wound." 

"Don't  move  me,  Graham,  or  I'll  bleed  to  death  in 
stantly,  and — and — I  want  to  look  in  your  face — once  more, 
and  send  my — true  love  to  Grace.  More  brandy,  please. 
It's  getting  light  again.  Before  it  was  dark— oh,  so  dark! 
How  is  it  you  are  here  ?" 

4 '  I  came  back  for  you.  Could  I  ride  away  and  you  not 
with  me  ?  Oh,  Warren !  I  must  save  your  life.  I  must, 
I  must!" 

"Leave  me,  Graham;  leave  me  at  once.  You  will  be 
captured,  if  not  killed,"  and  Hilland  spoke  with  energy. 

"I  will  never  leave  you.  There,  your  voice  proves  that 
your  strength  is  coming  back.  Warren,  Warren,  can't  you 
live  for  Grace's  sake?" 

"Graham,"  said  Hilland,  solemnly,  "even  my  moments 
are  numbered.  One  more  gush  of  blood  from  my  side  and 
I'm  gone.  Oh,  shall  I  become  nothing?  Shall  I  be  no 
more  than  the  decaying  tree  behind  which  I  crawled  when 
struck  down  ?  Shall  I  never  see  my  peerless  bride  again  ? 
She  would  always  have  been  a  bride  to  me.  I  can't  believe 
it.  There  must  be  amends  somewhere  for  the  agony  of 
mind,  not  body,  that  I've  endured  as  I  lay  here,  and  for 
the  anguish  that  Grace  will  suffer.  Oh,  Graham,  my  phi 
losophy  fails  me  in  this  strait,  my  whole  nature  revolts  at 
it.  Mere  corruption,  chemical  change,  ought  not  to  be  the 
end  of  a  man." 

"Do  not  waste  your  strength  in  words.  Live,  and  in 
a  few  short  weeks  Grace  may  be  your  nurse.  Take  more 
brandy,  and  then  I'll  go  for  assistance." 

"No,  Graham,  no.  Don't  leave  me.  Life  is  ebbing 
again.  Ah,  ah !  farewell — true  friend.  Un — bounded  love 
— Grace.  Commit — her — your  care!" 

There  was  a  convulsive  shudder  and  the  noble  form  was 
still. 

Graham  knelt  over   him  for  a  few  moments  in  silent 


ITS    FULFILMENT  247 

horror.  Then  he  tore  open  Hilland's  vest  and  placed  his 
hand  over  his  heart.  It  was  motionless.  His  hand,  as  he 
withdrew  it,  was  bathed  in  blood.  He  poured  brandy  into 
the  open  lips,  but  the  powerful  stimulant  was  without  effect. 
The  awful  truth  overwhelmed  him. 

Hilland  was  dead. 

He  sat  down,  lifted  his  friend  up  against  his  breast,  and 
hung  over  him  with  short,  dry  sobs—with  a  grief  far  beyond 
tears,  careless,  reckless  of  his  own  safety. 

The  bushes  near  him  were  parted,  and  a  sweet  girlish 
face,  full  of  fear,  wonder,  and  pity,  looked  upon  him.  The 
interpretation  of  the  scene  was  but  too  evident,  and  tears 
gushed  from  the  young  girl's  eyes. 

"Oh,  sir,"  she  began  in  a  low,  faltering  voice. 

The  mourner  paid  no  heed. 

"Please,  sir,"  she  cried,  "do  not  grieve  so.  I  never 
saw  a  man  grieve  like  that.  Oh,  papa,  papa,  come,  come 
here." 

The  quick  pride  of  manhood  was  touched,  and  Graham 
laid  his  friend  reverently  down,  and  stood  erect,  quiet,  but 
with  heaving  breast.  Hasty  steps  approached,  and  a  gray- 
haired  man  stood  beside  the  young  girl. 

"I  am  your  prisoner,  sir,"  said  Graham,  "but  in  the 
name  of  humanity  I  ask  you  to  let  me  bury  my  dead." 

' '  My  dear  young  sir,  in  the  name  of  humanity  and  a  more 
sacred  Name,  I  will  do  all  for  you  in  my  power.  I  am  a 
clergyman,  and  am  here  with  a  party  from  a  neighboring 
village,  charged  with  the  office  of  burying  the  dead  with  ap 
propriate  rites.  J  have  no  desire  to  take  you  prisoner,  but 
will  be  glad  to  entertain  you  as  my  guest  if  the  authorities 
will  permit.  Will  you  not  give  me  some  brief  explanation 
of  this  scene  while  they  are  gathering  up  the  dead  ?' ' 

Graham  did  so  in  a  few  sad  words.  The  daughter  sat 
crying  on  the  mossy  log  meanwhile,  and  the  old  man  wiped 
his  eyes  again  and  again. 

"Was  there  ever  a  nobler-looking  man?"  sobbed  the 
girl;  "and  to  think  of  his  poor  wifel  Papa,  he  must  not 


248  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

be  buried  here.  He  must  be  taken  to  our  little  cemetery 
by  the  church,  and  I  will  often  put  flowers  on  his  grave." 

"If  you  will  carry  out  this  plan,  sweet  child/'  said 
Graham,  "one  broken-hearted  woman  will  bless  you  while 
she  lives." 

"Think,  papa,"  resumed  the  girl — "think  if  it  was  our 
Henry  what  we  would  wish." 

"I'm  glad  you  feel  as  you  do,  my  child.  It  proves  that 
this  horrible  war  is  not  hardening  your  heart  or  making  you 
less  gentle  or  compassionate.  I  will  carry  out  your  wishes 
and  yours,  sir,  and  will  use  my  whole  influence  to  prevent 
your  noble  fidelity  to  your  friend  from  becoming  the  cause 
of  your  captivity.  I  will  now  summon  assistance  to  carry 
your  friend  to  the  road,  where  a  wagon  can  take  him  to  the 
village. ' ' 

In  a  few  moments  two  negro  slaves,  part  of  the  force 
sent  to  bury  the  dead,  with  their  tattered  hats  doffed  out 
of  respect,  slowly  bore  the  body  of  Hilland  to  the  roadside. 
Graham,  with  his  bare  head  bowed  under  a  weight  of  grief 
that  seemed  wellnigh  crushing,  followed  closely,  and  then 
the  old  clergyman  and  his  daughter.  They  laid  the  princely 
form  down  on  the  grass  beside  a  dark-haired  young  Con 
federate  officer,  who  was  also  to  be  taken  to  the  cemetery. 

The  sad  rites  of  burial  which  the  good  old  man  now  per- 
formed  over  both  friend  and  foe  of  subordinate  rank  need 
not  be  dwelt  upon.  While  they  were  taking  place  Graham 
stood  beside  his  friend  as  motionless  as  if  he  had  become 
a  statue,  heedless  of  the  crowd  of  villagers  and  country 
people  that  had  gathered  to  the  scene. 

At  last  a  sweet  voice  said:  "Please,  sir,  it's  time  to  go. 
You  ride  with  papa.  I  am  young  and  strong  and  can  walk." 

His  only  response  was  to  take  her  hand  and  kiss  it  fer 
vently.  Then  he  turned  to  her  father  and  told  him  of  his 
horse  that  was  hidden  in  the  nearest  edge  of  the  belt  of 
woods,  and  asked  that  it  might  be  sent  for  by  some  one 
who  was  trustworthy. 

"Here  is  Sampson,  one  of  my  own  people;  I'd  trust  him 


ITS   FULFILMENT  249 

with  all  I  have;"  and  one  of  the  negroes  who  had  borne  the 
body  of  Hilland  hastened  away  as  directed,  and  soon  re 
turned  with  the  beautiful  horse  that  awakened  the  admira 
tion  of  all  and  the  cupidity  of  a  few  of  the  nondescript 
characters  that  had  been  drawn  to  the  place. 

A  rude  wagon  was  drawn  to  the  roadside,  its  rough 
boards  covered  with  leafy  boughs,  and  the  Union  and  the 
Confederate  officer  were  placed  in  it  side  by  side.  Then  the 
minister  climbed  into  his  old-fashioned  gig,  his  daughter 
sprang  lightly  in  by  his  side,  took  the  reins  and  slowly  led 
the  way,  followed  by  the  extemporized  hearse,  while  Graham 
on  his  horse  rode  at  the  feet  of  his  friend,  chief  mourner  in 
bitter  truth.  The  negroes  who  had  buried  the  dead  walked 
on  either  side  of  the  wagon  bareheaded  and  oblivious  of 
the  summer  sun,  and  the  country  people  and  villagers 
streamed  along  the  road  after  the  simple  procession. 

The  bodies  were  first  taken  to  the  parsonage,  and  the 
stains  of  battle  removed  by  an  old  colored  aunty,  a  slave 
of  the  clergyman.  Graham  gave  into  the  care  of  the  clergy 
man's  daughter  Hilland's  sword  and  some  other  articles 
that  he  did  not  wish  to  carry  on  his  return  to  the  Union 
lines.  Among  these  was  an  exquisite  likeness  of  Grace 
smiling  in  her  happy  loveliness. 

Tears  again  rushed  into  the  young  girl's  eyes  as  she 
asked  in  accents  of  deepest  commiseration:  "And  will  you 
have  to  break  the  news  to  her?" 

"No,"  said  Graham  hoarsely;  "I  could  not  do  that.  I'd 
rather  face  a  thousand  guns  than  that  poor  wife." 

"Why  do  you  not  keep  the  likeness?" 

"I  could  not  look  upon  it  and  think  of  the  change  which 
this  fatal  day  will  bring  to  those  features.  I  shall  leave  it 
with  you  until  she  comes  for  his  sword  and  to  visit  his 
grave.  No  one  has  a  better  right  to  it  than  you,  and  in  this 
lovely  face  you  see  the  promise  of  your  own  womanhood 
reflected.  You  have  not  told  me  your  name.  I  wish  to 
know  it,  for  I  shall  love  and  cherish  it  as  one  of  my  most 
sacred  memories. ' ' 


250  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

"Margarita  Anderson,"  was  the  blushing  reply.  "Papa 
and  my  friends  call  me  Rita." 

"Let  me  call  you  what  your  name  signifies,  and  what 
you  have  proved  yourself  to  be — Pearl.  Who  is  Henry?" 

' '  My  only  brother.     He  is  a  captain  in  our  army. ' ' 

"You  are  a  true  Southern  girl?" 

"Yes,  in  body  and  soul  I'm  a  Southern  girl;"  and  her 
dark  eyes  flashed  through  her  tears. 

"So  was  the  original  of  this  likeness.  She  is  kin  to  you 
in  blood  and  feeling  as  well  as  in  her  noble  qualities;  but 
she  loved  her  Northern  husband  more  than  the  whole 
world,  and  all  in  it  was  nothing  compared  with  him.  She 
will  come  and  see  you  some  day,  and  words  will  fail  her  in 
thanks." 

4 '  And  will  you  come  with  her  ?' ' 

"I  don't  know.     I  may  be  dead  long  before  that  time." 

The  young  girl  turned  away,  and  for  some  reason  her 
tears  flowed  faster  than  ever  before. 

"Pearl,  my  tender-hearted  child,  don't  grieve  over  what 
would  be  so  small  a  grief  to  me.  This  evil  day  has  clouded 
your  young  life  with  the  sadness  of  others.  But  at  your  age 
it  will  soon  pass;"  and  he  returned  to  his  friend  and  took 
from  him  the  little  mementoes  that  he  knew  would  be  so 
dear  to  Grace. 

Soon  after,  the  two  bodies  were  borne  to  the  quaint  old 
church  and  placed  before  the  altar.  Both  were  dressed  in 
their  full  uniforms,  and  there  was  a  noble  calmness  on  the 
face  of  each  as  they  slumbered  side  by  side  in  the  place 
sacred  to  the  God  of  peace,  and  at  peace  with  each  other 
for  evermore. 

For  an  hour  the  bell  tolled  slowly,  and  the  people 
passed  in  at  one  door,  looked  upon  the  manly  forms,  and 
with  awed  faces  crept  out  at  the  other. 

It  was  indeed  a  memorable  day  for  the  villagers.  They 
had  been  awakened  in  the  dawn  by  sounds  of  distant  con 
flict.  They  had  exulted  over  a  brilliant  victory  as  the  Con 
federate  forces  came  marching  rapidly  through  their  streets. 


ITS    FULFILMENT  261 

They  had  been  put  on  the  qui  vive  to  know  what  the  rapid 
movement  of  their  troops  meant.  Some  of  the  most  severely 
wounded  had  been  left  in  their  care.  The  battlefield  with 
its  horrors  had  been  visited,  and  there  was  to  be  a  funeral 
service  over  two  actors  in  the  bloody  drama,  whose  un 
timely  fate  excited  not  only  sympathy,  but  the  deep  interest 
and  curiosity  which  ever  attend  upon  those  around  whom 
rumor  has  woven  a  romantic  history.  The  story  of  Gra 
ham's  return  in  search  of  his  friend,  of  the  circumstances 
of  their  discovery  by  Bita,  of  the  likeness  of  the  lovely  wife 
who  would  soon  be  heart-broken  from  the  knowledge  of 
what  was  known  to  them,  had  got  abroad  among  the  people, 
and  their  warm  Southern  hearts  were  more  touched  by  the 
fate  of  their  Northern  foe  than  by  that  of  the  officer  wearing 
the  livery  of  their  own  service,  but  of  whom  little  was  known. 

Graham's  profound  grief  also  impressed  them  deeply; 
and  the  presence  of  a  Union  officer,  sitting  among  them, 
forgetful  of  his  danger,  of  all  except  that  his  friend  was 
dead,  formed  a  theme  which  would  be  dwelt  upon  for 
months  to  come. 

Near  the  close  of  the  day,  after  some  appropriate  words 
in  the  church,  the  venerable  clergyman,  with  his  white 
locks  uncovered,  led  the  way  through  the  cemetery  to  its 
further  side,  where,  under  the  shade  of  an  immense  juniper- 
tree,  were  two  open  graves.  As  before,  Graham  followed 
his  friend,  and  after  him  came  Bita  with  a  number  of  her 
young  companions,  dressed  in  white  and  carrying  baskets 
of  flowers.  After  an  impressive  burial  service  had  been 
read,  the  young  girls  passed  to  and  fro  between  the  graves, 
throwing  flowers  in  each  and  singing  as  they  went  a  hymn 
breathing  the  certainty  of  the  immortality  that  had  been 
the  object  of  poor  Holland's  longing  aspiration.  Graham's 
heart  thrilled  as  he  heard  the  words,  for  they  seemed  the 
answer  to  his  friend's  questions.  But,  though  his  feelings 
might  be  touched  deeply,  he  was  the  last  man  to  be  moved 
by  sentiment  or  emotion  from  a  position  to  which  his  inex 
orable  reason  had  conducted  him. 


264  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

me.  Oh,  come  with  me — do,  please.  I  fear  you've  eaten 
nothing  to-day,  and  we  have  supper  all  ready  for  you." 

Graham  tottered  to  his  feet  and  passed  his  hand  across 
his  brow,  as  if  to  brush  away  an  evil  dream. 

"Indeed,  sir,  you  look  sick  and  faint  Take  my  arm  and 
lean  on  me.  I  assure  you  I  am  very  strong." 

"Yes,  Pearl,  you  are  strong.  Many  live  to  old  age  and 
never  become  as  true  a  woman  as  you  are  to-day.  This 
awful  event  has  wellnigh  crushed  me,  and,  now  I  think  of 
it,  I  have  scarcely  tasted  food  since  last  evening.  Thank 
you,  my  child,  I  will  take  your  arm.  In  an  hour  or  two 
I  shall  gain  self-control." 

"My  heart  aches  for  you,  sir,"  she  said,  as  they  passed 
slowly  through  the  twilight. 

"May  it  be  long  before  it  aches  from  any  sorrow  of  your 
own,  Pearl." 

The  parsonage  adjoined  the  church.  The  old  clergyman 
abounded  in  almost  paternal  kindness,  and  pressed  upon 
Graham  a  glass  of  home-made  wine.  After  he  had  taken 
this  and  eaten  a  little,  his  strength  and  poise  returned,  and 
he  gave  his  entertainers  a  fuller  account  of  Hilland  and  his 
relations,  and  in  that  Southern  home  there  was  as  genuine 
sympathy  for  the  inmates  of  the  Northern  home  as  if  they 
all  had  been  devoted  to  the  same  cause. 

"There  are  many  subjects  on  which  we  differ,"  said  his 
host.  "You  perceive  that  I  have  slaves,  but  they  are  so 
attached  to  me  that  I  do  not  think  they  would  leave  me  if 
I  offered  them  their  freedom.  I  have  been  brought  up  to 
think  slavery  right.  My  father  and  grandfather  before  me 
held  slaves  and  always  treated  them  well.  I  truly  think 
they  did  better  by  them  than  the  bondmen  could  have  done 
for  themselves.  To  give  them  liberty  and  send  them  adrift 
would  be  almost  like  throwing  little  children  out  into  the 
world.  I  know  that  there  are  evils  and  abuses  connected 
with  our  system,  but  I  feel  sure  that  liberty  given  to  a  peo 
ple  unfitted  for  it  would  be  followed  by  far  greater  evils." 

"It's  a  subject  to  which  I  have  given  very  little  attea- 


A    SOUTHERN   GIRL  255 

tion,"  Graham  replied.  "I  have  spent  much  of  my  life 
abroad,  and  certainly  your  servants  are  better  off  than  the 
peasantry  and  very  poor  in  many  lands  that  I  have  visited." 

With  a  kind  of  wonder,  he  thought  of  the  truth  that  Hil- 
land,  who  so  hated  slavery,  had  been  lifted  from  the  battle 
field  by  slaves,  and  that  his  remains  had  been  treated  with 
reverent  honor  by  a  slave-holder. 

The  old  clergyman's  words  also  proved  that,  while  he 
deprecated  the  war  unspeakably,  his  whole  sympathy  was 
with  the  South.  His  only  son,  of  whom  neither  he  nor  Rita 
could  speak  without  looks  of  pride  and  affection  kindling 
in  their  faces,  was  in  the  Confederate  service,  and  the  old 
man  prayed  as  fervently  for  success  to  the  cause  to  which 
he  had  devoted  the  treasure  of  his  life  as  any  Northern 
father  could  petition  the  God  of  nations  for  his  boy  and  the 
restoration  of  the  Union.  At  the  same  time  his  nature  was 
too  large,  too  highly  ennobled  by  Christianity,  for  a  narrow, 
vindictive  bitterness.  He  could  love  the  enemy  that  he  was 
willing  his  son  should  oppose  in  deadly  battle. 

"We  hope  to  secure  our  independence,"  he  added,  "and 
to  work  out  our  national  development  according  to  the 
genius  of  our  own  people.  I  pray  and  hope  for  the  time 
when  the  North  and  South  may  exist  side  by  side  as  two 
friendly  nations.  Your  noble  words  this  afternoon  found 
their  echo  in  my  heart  Even  though  my  son  should  be 
slain  by  a  Northern  hand,  as  your  friend  has  been  by  a 
Southern,  I  wish  to  cherish  no  vindictive  bitterness  and 
enmity.  The  question  must  now  be  settled  by  the  stern 
arbitrament  of  battle;  but  when  the  war  is  over  let  it  not 
be  followed  by  an  era  of  hate." 

He  then  told  Graham  how  he  had  lost  his  beloved  wife 
years  before,  and  how  lonely  and  desolate  he  had  been  until 
Rita  had  learned  to  care  for  him  and  provide  for  his  comfort 
with  almost  hourly  vigilance. 

"  Yes,"  said  Graham,  "I  have  seen  it;  she  is  to  you  what 
my  friend's  wife  is  to  her  invalid  father,  the  immeasurable 
blessing  of  his  life.  How  it  will  be  now  I  hardly  know,  for 


254  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

me.  Oh,  come  with  me — do,  please.  I  fear  you've  eaten 
nothing  to-day,  and  we  have  supper  all  ready  for  you." 

Graham  tottered  to  his  feet  and  passed  his  hand  across 
his  brow,  as  if  to  brush  away  an  evil  dream. 

4  4  Indeed,  sir,  you  look  sick  and  faint.  Take  my  arm  and 
lean  on  me.  I  assure  you  I  am  very  strong." 

"Yes,  Pearl,  you  are  strong.  Many  live  to  old  age  and 
never  become  as  true  a  woman  as  you  are  to-day.  This 
awful  event  has  wellnigh  crushed  me,  and,  now  I  think  of 
it,  I  have  scarcely  tasted  food  since  last  evening.  Thank 
you,  my  child,  I  will  take  your  arm.  In  an  hour  or  two 
I  shall  gain  self-control." 

"My  heart  aches  for  you,  sir,"  she  said,  as  they  passed 
slowly  through  the  twilight. 

"May  it  be  long  before  it  aches  from  any  sorrow  of  your 
own,  Pearl." 

The  parsonage  adjoined  the  church.  The  old  clergyman 
abounded  in  almost  paternal  kindness,  and  pressed  upon 
Graham  a  glass  of  home-made  wine.  After  he  had  taken 
this  and  eaten  a  little,  his  strength  and  poise  returned,  and 
he  gave  his  entertainers  a  fuller  account  of  Hilland  and  his 
relations,  and  in  that  Southern  home  there  was  as  genuine 
sympathy  for  the  inmates  of  the  Northern  home  as  if  they 
all  had  been  devoted  to  the  same  cause. 

"There  are  many  subjects  on  which  we  differ,"  said  his 
host.  "You  perceive  that  I  have  slaves,  but  they  are  so 
attached  to  me  that  I  do  not  think  they  would  leave  me  if 
I  offered  them  their  freedom.  I  have  been  brought  up  to 
think  slavery  right.  My  father  and  grandfather  before  me 
held  slaves  and  always  treated  them  well.  I  truly  think 
they  did  better  by  them  than  the  bondmen  could  have  done 
for  themselves.  To  give  them  liberty  and  send  them  adrift 
would  be  almost  like  throwing  little  children  out  into  the 
world.  I  know  that  there  are  evils  and  abuses  connected 
with  our  system,  but  I  feel  sure  that  liberty  given  to  a  peo 
ple  unfitted  for  it  would  be  followed  by  far  greater  evils. ' ' 

"It's  a  subject  to  which  I  have  given  very  little  atten- 


A    SOUTHERN  GIRL  255 

tion,"  Graham  replied.  "I  have  spent  much  of  my  life 
abroad,  and  certainly  your  servants  are  better  off  than  the 
peasantry  and  very  poor  in  many  lands  that  I  have  visited." 

With  a  kind  of  wonder,  he  thought  of  the  truth  that  Hil- 
land,  who  so  hated  slavery,  had  been  lifted  from  the  battle 
field  by  slaves,  and  that  his  remains  had  been  treated  with 
reverent  honor  by  a  slave-holder. 

The  old  clergyman's  words  also  proved  that,  while  he 
deprecated  the  war  unspeakably,  his  whole  sympathy  was 
with  the  South.  His  only  son,  of  whom  neither  he  nor  Rita 
could  speak  without  looks  of  pride  and  affection  kindling 
in  their  faces,  was  in  the  Confederate  service,  and  the  old 
man  prayed  as  fervently  for  success  to  the  cause  to  which 
he  had  devoted  the  treasure  of  his  life  as  any  Northern 
father  could  petition  the  God  of  nations  for  his  boy  and  the 
restoration  of  the  Union.  At  the  same  time  his  nature  was 
too  large,  too  highly  ennobled  by  Christianity,  for  a  narrow, 
vindictive  bitterness.  He  could  love  the  enemy  that  he  was 
willing  his  son  should  oppose  in  deadly  battle. 

"We  hope  to  secure  our  independence,"  he  added,  "and 
to  work  out  our  national  development  according  to  the 
genius  of  our  own  people.  I  pray  and  hope  for  the  time 
when  the  North  and  South  may  exist  side  by  side  as  two 
friendly  nations.  Your  noble  words  this  afternoon  found 
their  echo  in  my  heart  Even  though  my  son  should  be 
slain  by  a  Northern  band,  as  your  friend  has  been  by  a 
Southern,  I  wish  to  cherish  no  vindictive  bitterness  and 
enmity.  The  question  must  now  be  settled  by  the  stern 
arbitrament  of  battle;  but  when  the  war  is  over  let  it  not 
be  followed  by  an  era  of  hate." 

fle  then  told  Graham  how  he  had  lost  his  beloved  wife 
years  before,  and  how  lonely  and  desolate  he  had  been  until 
Rita  had  learned  to  care  for  him  and  provide  for  his  comfort 
with  almost  hourly  vigilance. 

44  Yes,"  said  Graham,  "I  have  seen  it;  she  is  to  you  what 
my  friend's  wife  is  to  her  invalid  father,  the  immeasurable 
blessing  of  his  life.  How  it  will  be  now  I  hardly  know,  for 


256  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

I  fear  that  her  grief  will  destroy  her,  and  the  old  major,  her 
father,  could  not  long  survive." 

A  note  was  now  handed  to  the  old  gentleman,  who,  hav 
ing  read  it,  appeared  greatly  distressed.  After  a  moment's 
hesitancy  he  gave  it  to  Graham,  who  read  as  follows: 

"I  heard  the  North'ner  speak  this  arternoon,  an'  I  can't  be  one  to  take  and 
rob  him  of  his  horse  and  send  him  to  prison.  But  it'll  be  done  to-night  if  you 
can't  manage  his  escape.  Every  rode  is  watched,  an'  your  house  will  be 
searched  to-night.  ONE  OP  THE  BAND. 

"You'll  burn  this  an'  keep  mum  or  my  neck  will  be  stretched." 

"Who  brought  the  note?"  Mr.  Anderson  asked,  going 
to  the  door  and  questioning  a  colored  woman. 

"Dunno,  mas'r.  De  do'  open  a  little,  and  de  ting  flew 
in  on  de  flo'." 

liWell,'"  said  Graham,  "I  must  mount  and  go  at  once;" 
and  he  was  about  to  resume  his  arms. 

"Wait,  wait;  I  must  think!"  cried  his  host.  "For  you 
to  go  alone  would  be  to  rush  into  the  very  evils  we  are 
warned  against.  I  am  pained  and  humiliated  beyond  meas 
ure  by  this  communication.  Mr.  Graham,  do  not  judge  us 
harshly.  There  is,  I  suppose,  a  vile  sediment  in  every  com 
munity,  and  there  is  here  a  class  that  won't  enlist  in  open, 
honorable  warfare,  but  prowl  around,  chiefly  at  night,  intent 
on  deeds  like  this." 

"Papa,"  said  Eita,  who  had  read  the  warning,  "I  know 
what  to  do;"  and  her  brave  spirit  flashed  in  her  eyes. 

"You,  my  child?" 

"Yes.  I'll  prove  to  Mr.  Graham  what  a  Southern  girl 
will  do  for  a  guest — for  one  who  has  trusted  her.  The  deep, 
deep  disgrace  of  his  capture  and  robbery  shall  not  come  on 
our  heads.  1  will  guide  him  at  once  through  the  woods  to 
old  Dncle  Jehu's  cabin.  No  one  will  think  of  looking  for 
him  there;  for  there  is  little  more  than  a  bridle-path  lead 
ing  to  it ;  but  I  know  the  way,  every  inch  of  it. ' ' 

"But,  Rita,  I  could  send  one  of  the  servants  with  Mr. 
Graham." 

"No,   papa;    he  would  be  missed  and  afterward  ques= 


A   SOUTHERN   GIRL  257 

tioned,  and  some  awful  revenge  taken  on  him.  You  must 
say  that  I  have  retired  when  the  villains  come.  You  must 
keep  all  our  servants  in.  Mr.  Graham  and  I  will  slip  out. 
He  can  saddle  his  horse,  and  I,  you  know  well,  can  saddle 
mine.  Now  we  must  apparently  go  to  our  rooms  and  within 
half  an  hour  slip  out  unperceived  and  start.  No  one  will 
ever  dare  touch  me,  even  if  it  is  found  out." 

"Pearl,  priceless  Pearl,  I'll  fight  my  way  through  all  the 
guerillas  in  the  land,  rather  than  subject  you  to  peril." 

"You  could  not  fight  your  way  through  them,  the  cow 
ardly  skulkers.  What  chance  would  you  have  in  dark 
ness  ?  My  plan  brings  me  no  peril,  for  if  they  met  as  they 
would  not  dare  to  touch  me.  But  if  it  costs  me  my  life  [ 
will  go,"  she  concluded  passionately.  "This  disgrace  must 
not  fall  on  our  people." 

" Hi ta  is  right,"  said  the  old  clergyman,  solemnly.  "I 
could  scarcely  survive  the  disgrace  of  having  a  guest  taken 
from  my  home,  and  they  would  have  to  walk  over  my  pros 
trate  form  before  it  could  be  done;  and  to  send  you  out 
alone  would  be  even  more  shameful.  The  plan  does  not 
involve  much  peril  to  Rita.  Although,  in  a  sense,  you  are 
my  enemy,  I  will  trust  this  pearl  beyond  price  to  your 
protection,  and  old  Jehu  will  return  with  her  until  within 
a  short  distance  of  the  house.  As  she  says,  I  think  no  one 
in  this  region  would  harm  her.  I  will  co-operate  with  you, 
Rita,  and  entreat  the  Heavenly  Father  until  I  clasp  you  in 
my  arms  again.  Act,  act  at  once. ' ' 

Graham  was  about  to  protest  again,  but  she  silenced  him 
by  a  gesture  that  was  almost  imperious.  "Don't  you  see 
that  for  papa's  sake,  for  my  own,  as  well  as  yours,  I  must 
go  ?  Now  let  us  say  good -night  as  if  we  were  parting  un 
suspicious  of  trouble.  When  I  tap  at  your  door,  Mr.  Gra 
ham,  you  will  follow  me;  and  you,  papa,  try  to  keep  our 
people  in  ignorance." 

Graham  wrung  the  clergyman's   hand  in  parting,  and 
said,  "You  will   always   be   to  me  a  type  of  the  noblest" 
development  of  humanity." 


258  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

"God  bless  you,  sir,"  was  the  reply,  "and  sustain  you 
through  the  dangers  and  trying  scenes  before  you.  I  am 
but  a  simple  old  man,  trying  to  do  right  with  God's  help. 
And,  believe  me,  sir,  the  South  is  full  of  men  as  sincere 
as  I  am. ' ' 

Within  half  an  hour  Graham  followed  his  fair  guide 
down  a  back  stairway  and  out  into  the  darkness.  Rita's 
pony  was  at  pasture  in  a  field  adjoining  the  stable,  but  he 
came  instantly  at  her  soft  call. 

"I  shall  not  put  on  my  saddle,"  she  whispered.  "If  I 
leave  it  hanging  in  the  stable  it  will  be  good  evidence  that 
I  am  in  my  room.  There  will  be  no  need  of  our  riding  fast, 
and,  indeed,  I  have  often  ridden  without  a  saddle  for  fun. 
I  will  guide  you  to  your  horse  and  saddle  in  the  dark  stable, 
for  we  must  take  him  out  of  a  back  door,  so  that  there  will 
be  no  sound  of  his  feet  on  the  boards. ' ' 

Within  a  few  moments  they  were  passing  like  shadows 
down  a  shaded  lane  that  led  from  the  house  to  the  forest, 
and  then  entered  what  was  a  mere  bridle-path,  the  starlight 
barely  enabling  the  keen-eyed  Rita  to  make  it  out  at  times. 
The  thick  woods  on  either  side  prevented  all  danger  of  flank 
attacks.  After  riding  some  little  time  they  stopped  and  lis 
tened.  The  absolute  silence,  broken  only  by  the  cries  of 
the  wild  creatures  of  the  night,  convinced  them  that  they 
were  not  followed.  Then  Rita  said,  "Old  Jehu  has  a  bright 
boy  of  sixteen  or  thereabout,  and  he'll  guide  you  north 
through  the  woods  as  far  as  he  can,  and  then  God  will  pro 
tect  and  guide  you  until  you  are  safe.  I  know  He  will  help 
you  to  escape,  that  you  may  say  words  of  comfort  to  the 
poor,  broken-hearted  wife. " 

"Yes,  Pearl,  I  think  I  shall  escape.  I  take  your  guid 
ance  as  a  good  omen.  If  I  could  only  be  sure  that  no  harm 
came  to  you  and  your  noble  father !' ' 

"The  worst  of  harm  would  have  come  to  us  had  we  per 
mitted  the  evil  that  was  threatened." 

"You  seem  very  young,  Pearl,  and  yet  you  are  in  many 
ways  very  mature  and  womanly." 


A    SOUTHERN    OIRL  259 

"I  am  young — only  sixteen— but  mamma's  death  and 
the  responsibility  it  brought  me  made  my  childhood  brief. 
Then  Henry  is  five  years  older  than  I,  and  I  always  played 
with  him,  and,  of  course,  you  know  I  tried  to  reach  up  to 
those  things  that  he  thought  about  and  did.  I've  never 
been  to  school.  Papa  is  educating  me,  and  oh,  he  knows 
so  much,  and  he  makes  knowledge  so  interesting,  that  I 
can't  help  learning  a  little.  And  then  Henry's  going  into 
the  war,  and  all  that  is  happening,  makes  me  feel  so  very, 
very  old  and  sad  at  times;"  and  so  she  continued  in  low 
tones  to  tell  about  herself  and  Henry  and  her  father,  of  their 
hopes  of  final  victory,  and  all  that  made  up  her  life.  This 
she  did  with  a  guileless  frankness,  and  yet  with  a  refined 
reserve  that  was  indescribable  in  its  simple  pathos  and 
beauty.  In  spite  of  himself  Graham  was  charmed  and 
soothed,  while  he  wondered  at  the  exquisite  blending  of 
girlhood  and  womanhood  in  his  guide.  She  also  ques 
tioned  him  about  the  North  and  the  lands  he  had  visited, 
about  his  aunt  and  Grace  and  her  father;  and  Graham's 
tremulous  tones  as  he  spoke  of  Grace  led  her  to  say  sorrow 
fully,  "Ah,  she  is  very,  very  dear  to  you  also." 

"Yes,"  he  .said,  imitating  her  frankness,  "she  is  dearer 
to  me  than  my  life.  I  would  gladly  have  died  in  Hilland's 
place  to  have  saved  her  this  sorrow.  Were  it  not  for  the 
hope  of  serving  her  in  some  way,  death  would  have  few  ter 
rors  to  me.  There,  my  child,  I  have  spoken  to  you  as  I 
have  to  only  one  other,  my  dear  old  aunty,  who  is  like  a 
mother.  Your  noble  trust  begets  trust." 

Then  he  became  aware  that  she  was  crying  bitterly. 

"Pearl,  Pearl,"  he  said,  "don't  cry.  I  have  become  ac 
customed  to  a  sad  heart,  and  it's  an  old,  old  story." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Graham,  I  remember  hearing  mamma  say  once 
that  women  learn  more  through  their  hearts  than  their  heads. 
1  have  often  thought  of  her  words,  and  I  think  they  must  be 
true.  A  Imost  from  the  first  my  heart  told  me  that  there  was 
something  about  you  which  made  you  different  from  other 
people.  Why  is  the  world  so  full  of  trouble  of  every  kind  ? 


260  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

Ah,  well,  papa  has  taught  me  that  heaven  will  make  amends 
for  everything." 

They  had  now  reached  a  little  clearing,  and  Rita  said 
that  they  were  near  Jehu's  cabin,  and  that  their  final  words 
had  better  be  said  before  awakening  the  old  man.  "I  must 
bathe  my  face,  too,"  she  added,  "for  he  would  not  under 
stand  my  tears,"  and  went  to  a  clear  little  spring  but  a  few 
paces  away. 

Graham  also  dismounted.  When  she  returned  he  took 
her  hand  and  raised  it  reverently  to  his  lips  as  he  said, 
"Pearl,  this  is  not  a  case  for  ordinary  thanks.  I  no  doubt 
owe  my  life,  certainly  my  liberty,  to  you.  On  that  I  will 
not  dwell.  I  owe  to  you  and  your  father  far  more,  and  so 
does  poor  Grace  Hilland.  You  insured  a  burial  for  my 
friend  that  will  bring  a  world  of  comfort  to  those  who  loved 
him.  The  thought  of  your  going  to  his  grave  and  placing 
upon  it  fresh  flowers  from  time  to  time  will  contain  more 
balm  than  a  thousand  words  of  well-meant  condolence. 
Pearl,  my  sweet,  pure,  noble  child,  is  there  nothing  I  can 
do  for  you?" 

"Yes,"  she  faltered;  "it  may  be  that  you  can  return  all 
that  we  have  done  a  hundred-fold.  It  may  be  that  you  will 
meet  Henry  in  battle.  In  the  memory  of  his  little  sister  you 
will  spare  him,  will  you  not  ?  If  he  should  be  captured  I 
will  tell  him  to  write  to  you,  and  I  feel  sure  that  you  will 
remember  our  lonely  ride  and  the  gray  old  father  who  is  pray 
ing  for  you  now,  and  will  not  leave  him  to  suffer. " 

Graham  drew  a  seal  ring  from  his  finger  and  said:  "Dear 
Pearl,  take  this  as  a  pledge  that  I  will  serve  him  in  any  way 
in  my  power  and  at  any  cost  to  myself.  I  hope  the  day  will 
come  when  he  will  honor  me  with  his  friendship,  and  I  would 
as  soon  strike  the  friend  I  have  lost  as  your  brother." 

"Now  I  am  content,"  she  said.  "I  believe  every  word 
you  say." 

"And  Grace  Hilland  will  come  some  day  and  claim  you 
as  a  sister  dearly  beloved.  And  I,  sweet  Pearl,  will  honor 
your  memory  in  my  heart  of  hearts.  The  man  who 


A    SOUTHERN    GIRL  261 

wins  you  as  his  bride  may  well  be  prouder  than  an 
emperor." 

"Oh,  no,  Mr.  Graham,  I'm  just  a  simple  Southern 
girl." 

"There  are  few  like  you,  I  fear,  South  or  North.  You 
are  a  girl  to  kindle  every  manly  instinct  and  power,  and  I 
shall  be  better  for  having  known  you.  The  hope  of  serving 
you  and  yours  in  some  way  and  at  some  time  will  give  a  new 
zest  and  value  to  my  life. " 

"Do  not  speak  so  kindly  or  I  shall  cry  again.  I've  been 
afraid  you  would  think  me  silly,  I  cry  so  easily.  I  do  not 
think  we  Southern  girls  are  like  those  at  the  North.  They 
are  colder,  I  imagine,  or  at  least  more  able  to  control  their 
feelings.  Papa  says  I  am  a  child  of  the  South.  I  can't  de 
cide  just  how  much  or  how  little  I  ought  to  feel  on  all  occa 
sions,  and  ever  since  I  saw  you  mourning  over  your  friend 
with  just  such  passionate  grief  as  I  should  feel,  my  whole 
heart  has  ached  for  you.  You  will  come  and  see  us  again 
if  you  have  a  chance  ?" 

"I  will  make  chances,  Pearl,  even  though  they  involve 
no  little  risk." 

"No,  no;  don't  do  that.  You  ought  to  care  too  much 
for  us  to  do  that.  Nothing  would  give  me  pleasure  that 
brought  danger  to  you.  If  I  could  only  know  that  yo'i 
reached  your  friends  in  safety!" 

"I'll  find  a  way  of  letting  you  know  if  I  can." 

"Well,  then,  good-by.  I"'s  strange,  but  you  seem  like 
an  old,  old  friend.  Oh,  I  know  Henry  will  like  you,  and 
that  you  will  like  him.  Next  to  mamma's,  your  ring  shall 
be  my  dearest  treasure.  I  shall  look  at  it  every  night  and 
think  I  have  added  one  more  chance  of  Henry's  safety.  Oh, 
I  could  worship  the  man  who  saved  his  life." 

"And  any  man  might  worship  you.  Good-by,  Pearl;" 
and  he  kissed  her  hand  again  and  again,  then  lifted  her  on 
her  pony  with  a  tenderness  that  was  almost  an  embrace,  and 
she  rode  slowly  to  the  door  of  a  little  log  cabin,  while  Gra 
ham  remained  concealed  in  the  shadow  of  the  woods  until 


262  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

it  was  made  certain  that  no  one  was  in  the  vicinity  except 
Jehu  and  his  family. 

The  old  man  was  soon  aroused,  and  his  ejaculations  and 
exclamations  were  innumerable. 

"No,  missy,  dars  no  un  been  roun'  heah  for  right  smart 
days.  It's  all  safe,  an*  Jehu  an'  his  ole  ooman  knows  how 
ter  keep  mum  when  Mas'r  Anderson  says  mum;  an'  so  does 
my  peart  boy  Huey" — who,  named  for  his  father,  was  thus 
distinguished  from  him.  "An'  de  hossifer  is  a  Linkum 
man?  Sho,  sho!  who'd  a  tink  it,  and  his  own  son  a  'Fed 
erate!  Well,  well,  Mas'r  Anderson  isn't  low-down  white 
trash.  If  he  thought  a  ting  was  right  I  reckon  de  hull 
worl'  couldn't  make  him  cut  up  any  white-trash  didoes." 

When  Eha  explained  further  the  old  negro  replied  with 
alacrity:  "Ob  cose  Jehu  will  took  you  home  safe,  an'  proud 
he'll  be  ter  go  wid  you,  honey.  You'se  a  mighty  peart  little 
gal,  an'  does  youse  blood  an'  broughten  up  jestice.  Mighty 
few  would  dar'  ride  five  mile  troo  de  lonesome  woods  wid 
a  strange  hossifer,  if  he  be  a  Linkum  man.  He  mus'  be 
sumpen  like  Linkum  hisself.  Yes,  if  you  bain't  af eared  ter 
show  him  de  way,  Huey  needn't  be;"  and  the  boy,  who  was 
now  wide  awake,  said  he'd  "like  notten  better  dan  sho  win' 
a  Linkum  man  troo  de  woods." 

Graham  was  summoned,  and  in  a  few  moments  all  was 
arranged. 

He  then  drew  the  old  man  aside  and  said,  "You  good, 
faithful  old  soul,  take  care  of  that  girl  as  the  apple  of  your 
eye,  for  she  has  only  one  equal  in  the  world.  Here  is  one 
hundred  dollars.  That  will  pay  for  a  good  many  chickens 
and  vegetables,  won't  it?" 

"Lor'  bless  you,  mas'r,  dey  ain't  chickens  nufi  in  Ole 
Virginny  to  brought  hundred  dollars." 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you  what  I'm  afraid  of.  This  region 
may  be  wasted  by  war,  like  so  many  others.  You  may  not 
be  troubled  in  this  out-of-the-way  place.  If  Mr.  Ander 
son's  family  is  ever  in  need,  you  are  now  paid  to  supply 
them  with  all  that  you  can  furnish." 


A    SOUTHERN   GIRL  263 

"  'Deed  I  is,  rnas'r,  double  paid." 

"Be  faithful  to  them  and  you  shall  have  more  'Linkuin 
money, '  as  you  call  it.  Keep  it,  for  your  money  down  here 
won't  be  worth  much  soon." 

"Dat's  shoah.  De  cullud  people  bain't  all  prayin'  for 
Linkum  for  notten." 

"Good-by.  Do  as  I  say  and  you  shall  be  taken  care  of 
some  day.  Say  nothing  about  this." 

"Mum's  de  word  all  roun'  ter-night,  mas'r." 

"Huey,  are  you  ready?" 

"I  is,  mas'r." 

"Lead  the  way,  then;"  and  again  approaching  Rita, 
Graham  took  off  his  hat  and  bowed  low  as  he  said,  "Give 
my  grateful  greeting  to  your  honored  father,  and  may  every 
hope  of  his  heart  be  fulfilled  in  return  for  his  good  deeds  to 
day.  As  for  you,  Miss  Anderson,  no  words  can  express  my 
profound  respect  and  unbounded  gratitude.  We  shall  meet 
again  in  happier  times;"  and  backing  his  horse,  while  he 
still  remained  uncovered,  he  soon  turned  and  followed  Huey. 

"Well,  now,"  ejaculated  Jehu.  "  'Clar  ter  you  ef  dat  ar 
Linkum  hossifer  bain't  nigh  onter  bein'  as  fine  a  gemman  as 
Mas'r  Henry  hisself.  Won't  you  take  some  'freshment, 
missy?  No?  Den  I'se  go  right 'long  wid  you." 

Eita  enjoined  silence,  ostensibly  for  the  reason  that  it 
was  prudent,  but  chiefly  that  she  might  have  a  respite  from 
the  old  man's  garrulousness.  Her  thoughts  were  very  busy. 
The  first  romance  of  her  young  life  had  come,  and  she  still 
felt  on  her  hands  the  kisses  that  had  been  so  warm  and  sin 
cere,  although  she  knew  they  were  given  by  one  who  cher 
ished  a  hopeless  love.  After  all,  it  was  but  her  vivid  South 
ern  imagination  that  had  been  kindled  by  the  swift,  strange 
events  of  the  past  twenty-four  hours.  With  the  fine  sense 
of  the  best  type  of  dawning  womanhood,  she  had  been  deeply 
moved  by  Graham's  strong  nature.  She  had  seen  in  him  a 
love  for  another  man  that  was  as  tender  and  passionate  as 
that  of  a  woman,  and  yet  it  was  bestowed  upon  the  husband 
of  the  woman  whom  he  had  loved  for  years.  That  he  had 


HIS   SOMBRE    RIVALS 

not  hesitated  to  risk  captivity  and  death  in  returning  for  his 
friend  proved  his  bravery  to  be  unlimited,  and  a  Southern 
girl  adores  courage.  For  a  time  Graham  would  be  the  ideal 
of  her  girlish  heart.  His  words  of  admiration  and  respect 
were  dwelt  upon,  and  her  cheeks  flushed  up  seen  in  the  deep 
shadow  of  the  iorest.  Again  her  tears  would  fall  fast  as  she 
thought  of  his  peril  and  of  all  the  sad  scenes  of  the  day  and 
the  sadder  ones  still  to  come.  Grace  Hilland,  a  Southern 
girl  like  herself,  became  a  glorified  image  to  her  fancy,  and 
it  would  now  be  her  chief  ambition  to  be  like  her.  She 
would  keep  her  lovely  portrait  on  her  bureau  beside  her 
Bible,  and  it  should  be  almost  equally  sacred. 

In  the  edge  of  the  forest  she  parted  from  Jehu  with 
many  and  warm  thanks,  for  she  thought  it  wise  that  there 
should  not  be  the  slightest  chance  of  his  being  seen.  She 
also  handed  him  a  Confederate  bill  out  of  her  slender  al 
lowance,  patted  him  on  the  shoulder  as  she  would  some 
faithful  animal,  and  rode  away.  He  crept  along  after  her 
till  he  saw  her  let  down  some  bars  and  turn  her  pony  into 
the  fields.  He  then  crept  on  till  he  saw  her  enter  a  door, 
and  then  stole  back  to  the  forest  and  shambled  homeward 
as  dusky  as  the  shadows  in  which  he  walked,  chuckling, 
"Missy  Rita,  sweet  honey,  guv  me  one  of  dem  'Federate 
rags.  Oh,  golly!  I'se  got  more  money — live  Linkum  money 
—dan  Mas'r  Anderson  hisself,  and  I'se  got  notten  ter  do  but 
raise  chickens  an'  garden  sass  all  my  born  days.  Missy  Rita's 
red  cheeks  never  grow  pale  long  as  Jehu  or  fluey  can  tote 
chickens  and  sass. ' ' 


GUERILLAS  265 


CHAPTER  XXX 

GUERILLAS 

GRAHAM,  beyond  a  few  low,  encouraging  words, 
held  his  peace  and  also  enjoined  silence  on  his 
youthful  guide.  His  plan  was  to  make  a  wide 
circuit  around  the  battlefield  of  the  previous  day,  and  then 
strike  the  trail  of  the  Union  forces,  which  he  believed  he 
could  follow  at  night,  fluey  thought  that  this  could  be 
done  and  that  they  could  keep  in  the  shelter  of  the  woods 
most  of  the  distance,  and  this  they  accomplished,  recon 
noitring  the  roads  most  carefully  before  crossing  them, 
fluey  was  an  inveterate  trapper;  and  as  his  pursuit  was 
quite  as  profitable  as  raising  "sass,"  old  Jehu  gave  the 
boy  his  own  way.  Therefore  he  knew  every  path  through 
the  woods  for  miles  around. 

The  dawn  was  in  the  east  before  Graham  reached  the 
Union  trail,  and  he  decided  to  spend  the  day  in  a  dense 
piece  of  woods  not  very  far  distant  fluey  soon  settled 
the  question  of  Mayburn's  provender  by  purloining  a  few 
sheaves  of  late  oats  from  a  field  that  they  passed;  but  when 
they  reached  their  hiding-place  Graham  was  conscious  that 
he  was  in  need  of  food  himself,  and  he  also  remembered 
that  a  boy  is  always  ravenous. 

41  Well,  fluey,"  he  said,  "in  providing  for  the  horse  you 
have  attended  to  the  main  business,  but  what  are  we  going 
to  do?" 

41  We'se  gwine  ter  do  better'n  de  hoss.  If  mas'r  '11  fam 
ine  his  saddle-bags,  reckon  he'll  fine  dat  Missy  Rita  hain't 
de  leddy  to  sen'  us  ofi  on  a  hunt  widout  a  bite  of  suthin* 

L— ROK—XIII 


266  HIS   SOMBRE    RIVALS 

good.  She  sez,  sez  she  to  me,  in  kind  o'  whisper  like, 
4Mas'r  Graham  '11  fine  suthin1  you'll  like,  Huey;'  "  and 
the  boy  eyed  the  saddle-bags  like  a  young  wolf. 

"Was  there  ever  such  a  blessed  girl!"  cried  Graham,  as 
he  pulled  out  a  flask  of  wine,  a  fowl  cut  into  nice  portions, 
bread,  butter,  and  relishes — indeed,  the  best  that  her  simple 
housekeeping  afforded  in  the  emergency.  In  the  other  bag 
there  was  also  a  piece  of  cake  of  such  portentous  size  that 
Huey  clasped  his  hands  and  rolled  up  his  eyes  as  he  had 
seen  his  parents  do  when  the  glories  of  heaven  were  expati 
ated  upon  in  the  negro  prayer- meetings. 

"That's  all  for  you,  Huey,  and  here's  some  bread  and 
cold  ham  to  go  with  it.  When  could  she  have  provided 
these  things  so  thoughtfully?  It  must  have  been  before 
she  called  me  last  night.  Now,  Huey,  if  you  ever  catch 
anything  extra  nice  in  the  woods  you  take  it  to  Miss  Rita. 
There  is  ten  dollars  to  pay  you;  and  when  the  Lincoln  men 
get  possession  here  I'll  look  after  you  and  give  you  a  fine 
chance,  if  you  have  been  faithful.  You  must  not  tell  Miss 
Rita  what  I  say,  but  seem  to  do  all  of  your  own  accord.  I 
wish  I  had  more  money  with  me,  but  you  will  see  me  again, 
and  I  will  make  it  all  right  with  you." 

"it's  all  right  now,  mas'r.  What  wouldn't  I  do  for 
Missy  Rita?  When  my  ole  mammy  was  sick  she  bro't 
med'cin,  and  a  right  smart  lot  ob  tings,  and  brung  her 
troo  de  weariness.  Golly!  Wonder  Missy  Rita  don't  go 
straight  up  ter  heben  like  dem  rackets  dey  shoots  when 
de  'Federates  say  dey  hab  a  vict'ry;"  and  then  the  boy's 
mouth  became  so  full  that  he  was  speechless  for  a  long  time. 

The  sense  of  danger,  and  the  necessity  for  the  utmost 
vigilance,  had  diverted  Graham's  thoughts  during  his  long 
night  ride;  and  with  a  soldier's  habit  he  had  concentrated 
his  faculties  on  the  immediate  problem  of  finding  the  trail, 
verifying  Huey's  local  knowledge  by  observation  of  the 
stars.  Now,  in  the  cool  summer  morning,  with  Rita's  de 
licious  repast  before  him,  life  did  not  seem  so  desperate  a 
thing  as  on  the  day  before.  Although  exceedingly  wea- 


GUERILLAS  267 

ried,  the  strength  of  mind  which  would  enable  him  to  face 
his  sad  tasks  was  returning.  He  thought  little  about  the 
consequences  of  his  disobedience  to  orders,  and  cared  less. 
If  he  lost  his  rank  he  would  enlist  as  a  private  soldier  after 
he  had  done  all  in  his  power  for  Grace,  who  had  been  com 
mitted  to  his  care  by  Hilland's  last  words.  He  felt  that  she 
had  the  most  sacred  claims  upon  him,  and  yet  he  queried, 
"What  can  I  do  for  her  beyond  communicating  every  detail 
of  her  husband's  last  hours  and  his  burial?  What  remedy 
is  there  for  a  sorrow  like  hers  ?" 

At  the  same  time  he  felt  that  a  lifelong  and  devoted 
friendship  might  bring  solace  and  help  at  times,  and  this 
hope  gave  a  new  value  to  his  life.  He  also  thought  it  very 
possible  that  the  strange  vicissitudes  of  war  might  put  it  in 
his  power  to  serve  the  Andersons,  in  whom  he  felt  a  grate 
ful  interest  that  only  such  scenes  as  had  just  occurred  could 
have  awakened.  It  would  ever  be  to  him  a  source  of  unal 
loyed  joy  to  add  anything  to  Rita  Anderson's  happiness. 

His  kind  old  aunt,  too,  had  her  full  share  of  his  thoughts 
as  he  reclined  on  the  dun-colored  leaves  of  the  previous 
year  and  reviewed  the  past  and  planned  for  the  future. 
He  recalled  her  words,  "that  good  would  come  of  it,"  when 
he  had  promised  to  "live  and  do  his  best."  Although  in 
his  own  life  he  had  missed  happiness,  there  was  still  a  pros 
pect  of  his  adding  much  to  the  well-being  of  others. 

But  how  could  he  meet  Grace  again  ?  He  trembled  at 
the  very  thought.  Her  grief  would  unman  him.  It  was 
agony  even  to  imagine  it;  and  she  might,  in  her  ignorance 
of  an  officer's  duties  in  battle,  think  that  if  he  had  kept 
near  Hilland  the  awful  event  might  have  been  averted. 

After  all,  he  could  reach  but  one  conclusion — to  keep  his 
old  promise  "to  do  his  best,"  as  circumstances  indicated. 

Asking  Huey,  who  had  the  trained  ear  of  a  hunter,  to 
watch  and  listen,  he  took  some  sleep  in  preparation  for  the 
coming  night,  and  then  gave  the  boy  a  chance  to  rest. 

The  day  passed  quietly,  and  in  the  evening  he  dismissed 
Huey,  with  assurances  to  Rita  and  her  father  that  a  night's 


268 

ride  would  bring  him  within  the  Union  Jines,  and  that  he 
now  knew  the  way  well.  The  boy  departed  in  high  spirits, 
feeling  that  he  would  like  "showin1  Linkum  men  troo  de 
woods"  even  better  than  trapping. 

Then  looking  well  to  his  arms,  and  seeing  that  they  were 
ready  for  instant  use,  Graham  started  on  his  perilous  ride, 
walking  his  horse  and  stopping  to  listen  from  time  to  time. 
Once  in  the  earlier  part  of  the  night  he  heard  the  sound  of 
horses'  feet,  and  drawing  back  into  the  deep  shadow  of  the 
woods  he  saw  three  or  four  men  gallop  by.  They  were  un 
doubtedly  guerillas  looking  for  him,  or  on  some  prowl  with 
other  objects  in  view.  At  last  he  knew  he  must  be  near  his 
friends,  and  he  determined  to  push  on,  even  though  the 
dawn  was  growing  bright;  but  he  had  hardly  reached  this 
conclusion  when  but  a  short  distance  in  advance  a  dozen 
horsemen  dashed  out  of  a  grove  and  started  toward  him. 

They  were  part  of  "The  Band,"  who,  with  the  instincts 
of  their  class,  conjectured  too  truly  that,  since  he  had  eluded 
them  thus  far,  their  best  chance  to  intercept  him  would  be 
at  his  natural  approach  to  the  Union  lines;  and  now,  with 
the  kind  of  joy  peculiar  to  themselves,  they  felt  that  their 
prey  was  in  their  power,  beyond  all  hope  of  escape,  for  Gra 
ham  was  in  plain  sight  upon  a  road  inclosed  on  either  side 
by  a  high  rail  fence.  There  were  so  many  guerillas  that 
there  was  not  a  ghost  of  a  chance  in  fighting  or  riding 
through  them,  and  for  a  moment  his  position  seemed 
desperate. 

"It's  May  burn  to  the  rescue  now,"  he  muttered,  and  he 
turned  and  sped  away,  and  every  leap  of  his  noble  horse 
increased  the  distance  between  him  and  his  pursuers.  His 
confidence  soon  returned,  for  he  felt  that  unless  something 
unforeseen  occurred  he  could  ride  all  around  them.  His 
pursuers  fired  two  shots,  which  were  harmless  enough,  but 
to  his  dismay  Graham  soon  learned  that  they  were  signals, 
for  from  a  farmhouse  near  other  horsemen  entered  the  road, 
and  he  was  between  two  parties. 

There  was  not  a  moment  to  lose.     Glancing  ahead,  he 


GUERILLAS  269 

saw  a  place  where  the  fence  had  lost  a  rail  or  two.  He 
spurred  toward  it,  and  the  gallant  horse  flew  over  like  a 
bird  into  a  wide  field  fringed  on  the  further  side  by  a  thick 
growth  of  timber.  Bullets  from  the  intercepting  party 
whizzed  around  him;  but  he  sped  on  unharmed,  while 
his  pursuers  only  stopped  long  enough  to  throw  ofi  a  few 
rails,  and  then  both  of  the  guerilla  squads  rode  straight  for 
the  woods,  with  the  plan  of  keeping  the  fugitive  between 
them,  knowing  that  in  its  tangle  he  must  be  caught. 

Graham  resolved  to  risk  another  volley  in  order  to  ride 
around  the  pursuers  nearest  the  Union  lines,  thus  throwing 
them  in  the  rear,  with  no  better  chance  than  a  stern  chase 
would  give  them.  In  order  to  accomplish  this,  however, 
he  had  to  circle  very  near  the  woods,  and  in  doing  so  saw 
a  promising  wood-road  leading  into  them.  The  yelling 
guerillas  were  so  close  as  to  make  his  first  plan  of  escape 
extremely  hazardous;  therefore,  following  some  happy  in 
stinct  he  plunged  into  the  shade  of  the  forest.  The  road 
proved  narrow,  but  it  was  open  and  unimpeded  by  over 
hanging  boughs.  Indeed,  the  trees  were  the  straight,  slen 
der  pines  in  which  the  region  abounded,  and  he  gained  on 
all  of  his  pursuers  except  two,  who,  like  himself,  were 
superbly  mounted.  The  thud  of  their  horses'  hoofs  kept 
near,  and  he  feared  that  he  might  soon  come  to  some  ob 
struction  which  would  bring  them  to  close  quarters.  May- 
burn  was  giving  signs  of  weariness,  for  his  mettle  had  been 
sorely  tried  of  late,  and  Graham  resolved  to  ambush  his 
pursuers  if  possible.  An  opportunity  occurred  speedily, 
for  the  road  made  a  sharp  turn,  and  there  was  a  small  clear 
ing  where  the  timber  had  been  cut.  The  dawn  had  as  yet 
created  but  a  twilight  in  the  woods,  and  the  obscurity  aided 
his  purpose.  He  drew  up  by  the  roadside  at  the  beginning 
of  the  clearing,  and  in  a  position  where  he  could  not  readily 
be  seen  until  the  guerillas  were  nearly  abreast,  and  waited, 
with  his  heavy  revolver  in  hand  and  his  drawn  sword  lying 
across  the  pommel  of  his  saddle. 

On  they  came  at  a  headlong  pace,  and  passed  into  the 


270  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

clearing  but  a  few  feet  away.  There  were  two  sharp  re 
ports,  with  the  slightest  possible  interval.  The  first  man 
dropped  instantly;  the  other  rode  wildly  for  a  few  moments 
and  then  fell  headlong,  while  the  riderless  horses  galloped 
on  for  a  time. 

Graham,  however,  soon  overtook  them,  and  with  far  more 
compunction  than  he  had  felt  in  shooting  their  riders,  he 
struck  them  such  a  blow  with  his  sword  on  their  necks,  a 
little  back  of  their  ears,  that  they  reeled  and  fell  by  the 
roadside.  He  feared  those  horses  more  than  all  "The 
Band";  for  if  mounted  again  they  might  tire  Mayburn 
out  in  a  prolonged  chase. 

To  his  great  joy  the  wood  lane  soon  emerged  into  another 
large  open  field,  and  he  now  felt  comparatively  safe. 

The  guerillas,  on  hearing  the  shots,  spurred  on  exult 
antly,  feeling  sure  of  their  prey,  but  only  to  stumble  over 
their  fallen  comrades.  One  was  still  able  to  explain  the 
mode  of  their  discomfiture;  and  the  dusky  road  beyond  at 
once  acquired  wholesome  terrors  for  the  survivors,  who  rode 
on  more  slowly  and  warily,  hoping  now  for  little  more  than 
the  recapture  of  the  horses,  which  were  the  envy  of  all  their 
lawless  hearts.  Your  genuine  guerilla  will  always  incur  a 
heavy  risk  for  a  fine  horse.  They  soon  discovered  the  poor 
brutes,  and  saw  at  a  glance  that  they  would  be  of  no  more 
service  in  irregular  prowlings.  Infuriated  more  at  the  loss 
of  the  beasts  than  at  that  of  the  men,  they  again  rushed  for 
ward  only  to  see  Graham  galloping  easily  away  in  the  distance. 

Even  in  their  fury  they  recognized  that  further  pursuit 
was  useless,  and  with  bitter  curses  on  their  luck,  they  took 
the  saddles  from  the  fallen  horses,  and  carried  their  associ 
ates,  one  dead  and  the  other  dying,  to  the  farmhouse  in 
which  dwelt  a  sympathizer,  who  had  given  them  refresh 
ment  during  the  night. 

A  few  hours  later — for  he  travelled  the  rest  of  the  way 
very  warily — Graham  reported  to  his  colonel,  and  found  the 
brigade  under  orders  to  move  on  the  following  morning, 
provided  with  ten  days'  rations. 


GUERILLAS  271 

The  officer  was  both  delighted  and  perplexed.  "It's  a 
hard  case, ' '  he  said.  ' '  You  acted  from  the  noblest  impulses ; 
but  it  was  flat  disobedience  to  orders." 

"I  know  it.  J  shall  probably  be  dismissed  from  the  ser 
vice.  If  so,  colonel,  I  will  enlist  as  a  private  in  your  regi 
ment.  Then  you  can  shoot  me  if  I  disobey  again." 

"Well,  you  are  the  coolest  fellow  that  ever  wore  the 
blue.  Come  with  me  to  headquarters." 

The  fact  of  his  arrival,  and  an  imperfect  story  of  what 
had  occurred,  soon  got  abroad  among  the  men;  and  they 
were  wild  in  their  approval,  cheering  him  with  the  utmost 
enthusiasm  as  he  passed  to  the  brigadier's  tent.  The  gen 
eral  was  a  genuine  cavalryman;  and  was  too  wise  in  his  day 
and  generation  to  alienate  bis  whole  brigade  by  any  mar- 
tinetism.  He  knew  Graham's  reputation  well,  and  he  was 
about  starting  on  a  dangerous  service.  The  cheers  of  the 
men  crowding  to  his  tent  spoke  volumes.  Hilland's  regi 
ment  seemed  half  beside  themselves  when  they  learned  that 
Graham  had  found  their  lieutenant-colonel  dying  on  the 
field,  and  that  he  had  been  given  an  honorable  burial.  The 
general,  therefore,  gave  Graham  a  most  cordial  welcome; 
and  said  that  the  question  was  not  within  his  jurisdiction, 
and  that  he  would  forward  full  particulars  at  once  through 
the  proper  channels  to  the  Secretary  of  War,  adding, 
"We'll  be  on  the  march  before  orders  can  reach  you. 
Meanwhile  take  your  old  command." 

Then  the  story  had  to  be  repeated  in  detail  to  the  chief 
officers  of  the  brigade.  Graham  told  it  in  as  few  words  as 
possible,  and  they  all  saw  that  his  grief  was  so  profound 
that  the  question  of  his  future  position  in  the  army  was 
scarcely  thought  of.  "I  am  not  a  sentimental  recruit,"  he 
said  in  conclusion.  "I  know  the  nature  of  my  offence,  and 
will  make  no  plea  beyond  that  I  believed  that  all  danger 
to  our  command  had  passed,  and  that  it  would  ride  quietly 
into  camp,  as  it  did.  I  also  thought  that  my  superiors  in 
giving  the  order  were  more  concerned  for  my  safety  than 
for  anything  else.  What  the  consequences  are  to  myself 


272  HIS    SOMBRE   RIVALS 

personally,  1  don't  care  a  straw.  There  are  some  misfor 
tunes  which  dwarf  all  others."  The  conference  broke  up 
with  the  most  hearty  expressions  of  sympathy,  and  the  re 
gret  for  Hilland's  death  was  both  deep  and  genuine. 

"I  have  a  favor  to  ask  my  colonel,  with  your  approval, 
General,"  said  Graham.  "I  would  like  to  take  a  small  de 
tachment  and  capture  the  owner  of  the  farmhouse  at  which 
was  harbored  part  of  the  guerilla  band  from  which  I  es 
caped.  I  would  like  to  make  him  confess  the  names  of  his 
associates,  and  send  word  to  them  that  if  harm  comes  to 
any  who  showed  kindness  or  respect  to  officers  of  our 
brigade,  severe  punishment  will  be  meted  out  on  every 
one  whenever  the  region  is  occupied  by  Union  forces." 

"I  order  the  thing  to  be  done  at  once,"  cried  the  gen 
eral.  "Colonel,  give  Major  Graham  as  many  men  as  he 
needs;  and,  Graham,  send  word  we'll  hang  every  mother's 
son  of  'em  and  burn  their  ranches  if  they  indulge  in  any 
more  of  their  devilish  outrages.  Bring  the  farmer  into 
camp,  and  I  will  send  him  to  Washington  as  a  hostage." 

On  this  occasion  Graham  obeyed  orders  literally.  The 
farmer  and  two  of  the  guerillas  were  captured;  and  when 
threatened  with  a  noosed  rope  confessed  the  names  of  the 
others.  A  nearly  grown  son  of  the  farmer  was  intrusted 
with  the  general's  message  to  their  associates;  and  Graham 
added  emphatically  that  he  intended  to  come  himself  some 
day  and  see  that  it  was  obeyed.  "Tell  them  to  go  into  the 
army  and  become  straightforward  soldiers  if  they  wish, 
but  if  I  ever  hear  of  another  outrage  I'll  never  rest  till  the 
general's  threat  is  carried  out." 

Graham's  deadly  pistol  shots  and  the  reputation  he  had 
gained  in  the  vicinity  gave  weight  to  his  words;  and  "The 
Band"  subsided  into  the  most  humdrum  farmers  of  the 
region.  Kita  had  ample  information  of  his  safety,  for  it 
soon  became  known  that  he  had  killed  two  of  the  most 
active  and  daring  of  the  guerillas  and  captured  three 
others;  and  she  worshipped  the  hero  of  her  girlish  fancy 
all  the  more  devoutly. 


JUST   IN    TIME  273 


CHAPTER   XXXI 

JUST   IN   TIME 

GRAHAM  returned  to  camp  early  in  the  afternoon, 
and  was  again  greeted  with  acclamations,  for  the 
events  that  had  occurred  had  become  better  known. 
The  men  soon  saw,  however,  from  his  sad,  stern  visage  that 
he  was  in  no  mood  for  ovations,  and  that  noisy  approval  of 
his  course  was  very  distasteful.  After  reporting,  he  went 
directly  to  his  tent;  its  flaps  were  closed,  and  Iss  was  in 
structed  to  permit  no  one  to  approach  unless  bearing  orders. 
The  faithful  negro,  overjoyed  at  his  master's  safe  return, 
marched  to  and  fro  like  a  belligerent  watch- dog. 

Graham  wrote  the  whole  story  to  his  aunt,  and  besought 
her  to  make  known  to  Grace  with  all  the  gentleness  and 
tact  that  she  possessed  the  awful  certainty  of  her  husband's 
death.  A  telegram  announcing  him  among  the  missing  had 
already  been  sent.  "Say  to  her,"  he  said,  in  conclusion, 
"that  during  every  waking  moment  I  am  grieving  for  her 
and  with  her.  Oh,  I  tremble  at  the  effect  of  her  grief:  I 
dread  its  consequences  beyond  all  words.  You  know  that 
every  power  I  possess  is  wholly  at  her  service.  Write  me 
daily  and  direct  me  what  to  do — if,  alas!  it  is  within  my 
power  to  do  anything  in  regard  to  a  grief  that  is  without 
remedy. ' ' 

He  then  explained  that  the  command  was  under  orders 
to  move  the  following  day,  and  that  he  would  write  again 
when  he  could. 

During  the  next  two  weeks  he  saw  some  active  service, 
taking  part  in  several  skirmishes  and  one  severe  engage- 


274  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

ment.  In  the  last  it  was  his  fortune  to  receive  on  the  shoul 
der  a  sabre-cut  which  promised  to  be  a  painful  though  not 
a  dangerous  wound,  his  epaulet  having  broken  the  force  of 
the  blow. 

On  the  evening  of  the  battle  a  telegram  was  forwarded 
to  him  containing  the  words: 

"Have  written  fully.  Come  home  if  you  can  for  a  short  time.  All  need 
you.  CHARLOTTE  MAYBUEN.  " 

In  the  rapid  movements  of  his  brigade  his  aunt's  letters 
had  failed  to  reach  him,  and  now  he  esteemed  his  wound 
most  fortunate  since  it  secured  him  a  leave  of  absence. 

His  journey  home  was  painful  in  every  sense  of  the 
word.  He  was  oppressed  by  the  saddest  of  memories.  He 
both  longed  and  dreaded  unspeakably  to  see  Grace,  and 
the  lack  of  definite  tidings  from  her  left  his  mind  a  prey 
to  the  dreariest  forebodings,  which  were  enhanced  by  his 
aunt's  telegram.  The  physical  pain  from  which  he  was 
never  free  was  almost  welcomed  as  a  diversion  from  his 
distress  of  mind.  He  stopped  in  Washington  only  long 
enough  to  have  his  wound  re-dressed,  and  pushed  north 
ward.  A  fatality  of  delays  irritated  him  beyond  measure; 
and  it  was  late  at  night  when  he  left  the  cars  and  was  driven 
to  his  aunt's  residence. 

A  yearning  and  uncontrollable  interest  impelled  him  to 
approach  first  the  cottage  which  contained  the  woman, 
dearer  to  him  than  all  the  world,  who  had  been  so  strangely 
committed  to  his  care.  To  his  surprise  there  was  a  faint 
light  in  the  library;  and  Hilland's  ill-omened  dream  flashed 
across  his  mind.  With  a  prophetic  dread  at  heart,  he 
stepped  lightly  up  the  piazza  to  a  window.  As  he  turned 
the  blinds  he  witnessed  a  scene  that  so  smote  his  heart  that 
he  had  to  lean  against  the  house  for  support.  Before  him 
was  the  reality  of  poor  Hilland's  -vision. 

On  the  rug  before  the  flickering  fire  the  stricken  wife 
crouched,  wringing  her  hands,  which  looked  ghostly  in 
their  whiteness.  A  candle  burning  dimly  on  a  table  in- 


JUST   IN    TIME  275 

creased  the  light  of  the  fire;  and  by  their  united  rays  he 
saw,  with  a  thrill  of  horror,  that  her  loosened  hair,  which 
covered  her  bowed  face  and  shoulders,  was,  in  truth,  silver 
white;  and  its  contrast  with  her  black  wrapper  made  the 
whole  scene,  linked  as  it  was  with  a  dead  man's  dream,  so 
ghostly  that  he  shuddered,  and  was  inclined  to  believe  it  to 
be  the  creation  of  his  overwrought  senses.  In  self-distrust 
he  looked  around.  Other  objects  were  clear  in  the  faint 
moonlight.  He  was  perfectly  conscious  of  the  dull  ache 
of  his  wound.  Had  the  phantom  crouched  before  the  fire 
vanished?  No;  but  now  the  silver  hair  was  thrown  back, 
and  Grace  Hilland's  white,  agonized  face  was  lifted  heaven 
ward.  Oh,  how  white  it  was ! 

She  slowly  took  a  dark-colored  vial  from  her  bosom. 

Thrilled  with  unspeakable  horror,  "Grace!"  he  shouted, 
and  by  a  desperate  effort  threw  the  blind  upward  and  off 
from  its  hinges,  and  it  fell  with  a  crash  on  the  veranda. 
Springing  into  the  apartment,  he  had  not  reached  her  side 
before  the  door  opened,  and  his  aunt's  frightened  face 
appeared. 

"Great  God!  what  does  this  mean,  Alford?" 

"What  does  it  mean,  indeed!"  he  echoed  in  agonized 
tones,  as  he  knelt  beside  Grace,  who  had  fallen  on  the  floor 
utterly  unconscious.  "Bring  the  candle  here,"  he  added 
hoarsely. 

She  mechanically  obeyed  and  seemed  almost  paralyzed. 
After  a  moment's  search  he  snatched  up  something  and 
cried:  "She's  safe,  she's  safe!  The  cork  is  not  removed." 
Then  he  thrust  the  vial  into  his  pocket,  and  lifted  Grace 
gently  on  the  lounge,  saying  meanwhile:  "She  has  only 
fainted;  surely  'tis  no  more.  Oh,  as  you  value  my  life  and 
hers,  act.  You  should  know  what  to  do.  I  will  send  the 
coachman  for  a  physician  instantly,  and  will  come  when 
you  need  me." 

flushing  to  the  man's  room,  he  dragged  him  from  his 
bed,  shook  him  awake,  and  gave  him  instructions  and  offers 
of  reward  that  stirred  the  fellow's  blood  as  it  had  never 


276  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

been  stirred  before;  and  yet  when  he  reached  the  stable  he 
found  that  Graham  had  broken  the  lock  and  had  a  horse 
saddled  and  ready. 

"Now  ride,"  he  was  commanded,  "as  if  the  devil  you 
believe  in  was  after  you." 

Then  Graham  rushed  back  into  the  house,  for  he  was 
almost  beside  himself.  But  when  he  Leard  the  poor  old 
major  calling  piteously,  and  asking  what  was  the  matter, 
he  was  taught  his  need  of  self-control.  Going  up  to  the 
veteran's  room,  he  soothed  him  by  saying  that  he  had  re 
turned  late  in  the  night  in  response  to  his  aunt's  telegram, 
and  that  he  had  found  Grace  fainting  on  the  floor,  that 
Mrs.  Mayburn  and  the  servants  were  with  her,  and  that 
a  physician  had  been  sent  for. 

"Oh,  Graham,  Graham,"  moaned  the  old  man,  "I  fear 
my  peerless  girl  is  losing  her  mind,  she  has  acted  so 
strangely  of  late.  It's  time  you  came.  It's  time  some 
thing  was  done,  or  the  worst  may  happen." 

With  an  almost  overwhelming  sense  of  horror,  Graham 
remembered  how  nearly  the  worst  had  happened,  but  he 
only  said:  "Let  us  hope  the  worst  has  passed.  I  will  bring 
you  word  from  Mrs.  Mayburn  from  time  to  time. ' ' 

His  terrible  anxiety  was  only  partially  relieved,  for  his 
aunt  said  that  Grace's  swoon  was  obstinate,  and  would  not 
yield  to  the  remedies  she  was  using.  "Come  in,"  she  cried. 
"This  is  no  time  for  ceremony.  Take  brandy  and  chafe  her 
wrists." 

What  a  mortal  chill  her  cold  hands  gave  him!  It  was 
worse  than  when  Hilland's  hands  were  cold  in  his. 

"Oh,  aunt,  she  will  live?" 

"Certainly,"  was  the  brusque  reply.  "A  fainting  turn 
is  nothing.  Come,  you  are  cool  in  a  battle:  be  cool  now. 
It  won't  do  for  us  all  to  lose  our  wits,  although  Heaven 
knows  there's  cause  enough." 

"How  white  her  face  and  neck  are!" — for  Mrs.  Mayburn 
had  opened  her  wrapper  at  the  throat,  that  she  might  breathe 
more  easily — "just  as  Hilland  saw  her  in  his  dream." 


JUST  IN    TIME  277 

"Have  done  with  your  dreams,  and  omens,  and  all  your 
weird  nonsense.  It's  time  for  a  little  more  common-sense. 
Kub  her  wrists  gently  but  strongly ;  and  if  she  shows  signs 
of  consciousness,  disappear." 

At  last  she  said  hastily,  "Go." 

Listening  at  the  door,  he  heard  Grace  ask,  a  few  mo 
ments  later,  in  a  faint  voice,  "What  has  happened  ?" 

"You  only  fainted,  deary." 

"Why— why— I'm  in  the  library." 

"Yes,  you  got  up  in  your  sleep,  and  I  followed  you;  and 
the  doctor  will  soon  be  here,  although  little  need  we  have 
of  him." 

"Oh,  I've  had  a  fearful  dream.  I  thought  I  saw  Warren 
or  Alford.  I  surely  heard  Alford's  voice." 

"Yes,  dear,  I've  no  doubt  you  had  a  bad  dream;  and  it 
may  be  that  Alford's  voice  caused  it,  for  he  arrived  late 
last  night  and  has  been  talking  with  your  father." 

"That  must  be  it,"  she  sighed;  "but  my  head  is  so  con 
fused.  Oh,  1  am  so  glad  he's  come!  When  can  I  see  him  ?" 

"Not  till  after,  the  doctor  comes  and  you  are  much 
stronger." 

"I  wish  to  thank  him;  I  can't  wait  to  thank  him." 

"He  doesn't  want  thanks,  deary;  he  wants  you  to  get 
well.  You  owe  it  to  him  and  your  father  to  get  well — as 
well  as  your  great  and  lifelong  sorrow  permits.  Now, 
deary,  take  a  little  more  stimulant,  and  then  don't  talk. 
I've  explained  everything,  and  shown  you  your  duty ;  and 
I  know  that  my  brave  Grace  will  do  it." 

"I'll  try,"  she  said,  with  a  pathetic  weariness  in  her 
voice  that  brought  a  rush  of  tears  to  Graham's  eyes. 

Eeturning  to  Major  St.  John,  he  assured  him  that  Grace 
had  revived,  and  that  he  believed  she  would  be  herself 
hereafter. 

"Oh,  this  cursed  war  I"  groaned  the  old  man;  "and 
how  I  have  exulted  in  it  and  Warren's  career!  I  had  a 
blind  confidence  that  he  would  come  out  of  it  a  veteran 
general  while  yet  little  more  than  a  boy.  My  ambitiop 


278  HIS    SOMBRE    RIVALS 

has  been  punished,  punished;  and  I  may  lose  both  the 
children  of  whom  I  was  so  proud.  Oh,  Graham,  the  whole 
world  is  turning  as  black  as  Grace's  mourning  robes." 

"I  have  felt  that  way  myself.  But,  Major,  as  soldiers  we 
must  face  this  thing  like  men.  The  doctor  has  come ;  and  I 
will  bring  him  here  before  he  goes,  to  give  his  report. ' ' 

"Well,  Graham,  a  father's  blessing  on  you  for  going  back 
for  Warren.  If  Grace  had  been  left  in  suspense  as  to  his  fate 
she  would  have  gone  mad  in  very  truth.  God  only  knows 
how  it  will  be  now ;  but  she  has  a  better  chance  in  meeting 
and  overcoming  the  sharp  agony  of  certainty." 

Under  the  physician's  remedies  Grace  rallied  more  rap 
idly;  and  he  said  that  if  carried  to  her  room  she  would  soon, 
sleep  quietly. 

"I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Graham  first,"  she  said,  decisively. 

To  Mrs.  Mayburn's  questioning  glance,  he  added,  "Grat 
ify  her.  I  have  quieting  remedies  at  hand." 

"He  will  prove  more  quieting  than  all  remedies.  He 
saved  my  husband's  life  once,  and  tried  to  do  so  again; 
and  I  wish  to  tell  him  I  never  forget  it  night  or  day.  He 
is  brave,  and  strong,  and  tranquil;  and  I  feel  that  to  take 
his  hand  will  allay  the  fever  in  my  brain." 

"Grace,  I  am  here,"  he  said,  pushing  open  the  door  and 
bending  his  knee  at  her  side  while  taking  her  hand.  "Waste 
no  strength  in  thanks.  School  your  broken  heart  into  pa 
tience  ;  and  remember  how  dear,  beyond  all  words,  your  life 
is  to  others.  Your  father's  life  depends  on  yours." 

"I'll  try,"  she  again  said;  "I  think  I  feel  better,  differ 
ently.  An  oppression  that  seemed  stifling,  crushing  me,  is 
passing  away.  Alford,  was  there  no  chance — no  chance  at 
all  of  saving  him?" 

"Alas!  no;  and  yet  it  is  all  so  much  better  than  it  might 
have  been !  His  grave  is  in  a  quiet,  beautiful  spot,  which 
you  can  visit;  and  fresh  flowers  are  placed  upon  it  every 
day.  Dear  Grace,  compare  your  lot  with  that  of  so  many 
others  whose  loved  ones  are  left  on  the  field." 

"As  he  would  have  been  were  it  not  for  you,  my  true, 


JUST  IN   TIME  279 

true  friend,"  and  she  carried  his  hand  to  her  lips  in  pas 
sionate  gratitude.  Then  tears  gushed  from  her  eyes,  and 
she  sobbed  like  a  child. 

"Thank  the  good  God  I"  ejaculated  Mrs.  May  burn. 
"These  are  the  first  tears  she  has  shed.  She  will  be  bet 
ter  now.  Come,  deary,  you  have  seen  Alfordo  He  is  to 
stop  with  us  a  long  time,  and  will  tell  you  everything  over 
and  over.  You  must  sleep  now." 

Graham  kissed  her  hand  and  left  the  room,  and  the  ser 
vants  carried  her  to  her  apartment.  Mrs.  Mayburn  and  the 
physician  soon  joined  him  in  the  library,  which  was  haunted 
by  a  memory  that  would  shake  his  soul  to  his  dying  day. 

The  physician  in  a  cheerful  mood  said,  "1  now  predict  a 
decided  change  for  the  better.  It  would  almost  seem  that 
she  had  had  some  shock  which  has  broken  the  evil  spell; 
and  this  natural  flow  of  tears  is  better  than  all  the  medi 
cine  in  the  world;"  and  then  he  and  Mrs.  Mayburn  ex 
plained  how  Grace's  manner  had  been  growing  so  strange 
and  unnatural  that  they  feared  her  mind  was  giving  way. 

"I  fear  you  were  right,"  Graham  replied  sadly;  and  he 
told  them  of  the  scene  he  had  witnessed,  and  produced  the 
vial  of  laudanum. 

The  physician  was  much  shocked,  but  Mrs.  Mayburn 
had  already  guessed  the  truth  from  her  nephew's  words 
and  manner  when  she  first  discovered  him. 

"Neither  Grace  nor  her  father  must  ever  know  of  this," 
she  said,  with  a  shudder. 

"Certainly  not;  but  Dr.  Markham  should  know.  As  her 
physician,  he  should  know  the  whole  truth." 

"I  think  that  phase  of  her  trouble  has  passed,"  said  the 
doctor,  thoughtfully;  "but,  as  you  say,  I  must  be  on  my 
guard.  Pardon  me,  you  do  not  look  well  yourself.  In 
deed,  you  look  faint;"  for  Graham  had  sunk  into  a  chair. 

"I  fear  I  have  been  losing  considerable  blood,"  said 
Graham,  carelessly;  "and  now  that  this  strong  excitement 
is  passing,  it  begins  to  tell.  I  owe  my  leave  of  absence  to 
a  wound." 


HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

"A  wound!"  cried  his  aunt,  coming  to  his  side.  "Why 
did  you  not  speak  of  it  ?" 

"Indeed,  there  has  been  enough  to  speak  of  beyond  this 
trifle.  Take  a  look  at  my  shoulder,  doctor,  and  do  what  you 
think  best" 

"And  here  is  enough  to  do,"  was  his  reply  as  soon  as 
Graham's  shoulder  was  bared:  "an  ugly  cut,  and  all  broken 
loose  by  your  exertions  this  evening.  You  must  keep  very 
quiet  and  have  good  care,  or  this  reopened  wound  will  make 
you  serious  trouble. ' ' 

"Well,  doctor,  we  have  so  much  serious  trouble  on  hand 
that  a  little  more  won't  matter  much." 

His  aunt  inspected  the  wound  with  grim  satisfaction,  and 
then  said,  sententiously:  "I'm  glad  you  have  got  it,  Alford, 
for  it  will  keep  you  home  and  divert  Grace's  thoughts.  In 
these  times  a  wound  that  leaves  the  heart  untouched  may  be 
useful;  and  nothing  cures  a  woman's  trouble  better  than 
having  to  take  up  the  troubles  of  others.  I  predict  a  deal 
of  healing  for  Grace  in  your  wound. ' ' 

"All  which  goes  to  prove,"  added  the  busy  physician, 
"that  woman's  nature  is  different  from  man's." 

When  he  was  gone,  having  first  assured  the  major  over 
and  over  again  that  all  danger  was  past,  Graham  said, 
"Aunt,  Grace's  hair  is  as  white  as  yours." 

"Yes;  it  turned  white  within  a  week  after  she  learned 
the  certainty  of  her  husband's  death." 

"Would  that  I  could  have  died  in  Hilland's  place!" 

"Yes,"  said  the  old  lady,  bitterly;  "you  were  always 
too  ready  to  die. ' ' 

He  drew  her  down  to  him  as  he  lay  on  the  lounge,  and 
kissed  her  tenderly,  as  he  said,  "But  I  have  kept  my  prom 
ise  'to  live  and  do  my  best.'  ' 

"You  have  kept  your  promise  to  live  after  a  fashion. 
My  words  have  also  proved  true,  'Good  has  come  of  it, 
and  more  good  will  come  of  it.'  " 


A    WOUNDED   SPIRIT  281 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

A     WOUNDED     SPIRIT 

GRACE'S  chief  symptom  when  she  awoke  on  the  fol 
lowing  morning  was  an  extreme  lassitude.  She 
was  almost  as  weak  as  a  violent  fever  would  have 
left  her,  but  her  former  unnatural  and  fitful  manner  was 
gone.  Mrs.  May  burn  told  Graham  that  she  had  had  long 
moods  of  deep  abstraction,  during  which  her  eyes  would  be 
fixed  on  vacancy,  with  a  stare  terrible  to  witness,  and  then 
would  follow  uncontrollable  paroxysms  of  grief. 

"This  morning,"  said  her  anxious  nurse,  "she  is  more 
like  a  broken  lily  that  has  not  strength  to  raise  its  head. 
But  the  weakness  will  pass;  she'll  rally.  Not  many  die  of 
grief,  especially  when  young." 

"Save  her  life,  aunty,  and  I  can  still  do  a  man's  part  in 
the  world." 

"Well,  Alford,  you  must  help  me.  She  has  been  com 
mitted  to  your  care;  and  it's  a  sacred  trust" 

Graham  was  now  installed  in  his  old  quarters,  and  placed 
under  Aunt  Sheba's  care.  His  energetic  aunt,  however, 
promised  to  look  in  upon  him  often,  and  kept  her  word. 
The  doctor  predicted  a  tedious  time  with  his  wound,  and 
insisted  on  absolute  quiet  for  a  few  days.  He  was  mis 
taken,  however.  Time  would  not  be  tedious,  with  fre 
quent  tidings  of  Grace's  convalescence  and  her  many 
proofs  of  deep  solicitude  about  his  wound. 

Grace  did  rally  faster  than  had  been  expected.  Her 
system  had  received  a  terrible  shock,  but  it  had  not  beea 
enfeebled  by  disease.  With  returning  strength  came  an 


282  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

insatiate  craving  for  action — an  almost  desperate  effort  to 
occupy  her  hands  and  mind.  Before  it  was  prudent  for 
Graham  to  go  out  or  exert  himself —for  his  wound  had  de 
veloped  some  bad  symptoms — she  came  to  see  him,  bring 
ing  delicacies  made  with  her  own  hands. 

Never  had  her  appearance  so  appealed  to  his  heart.  Her 
face  had  grown  thin,  but  its  lovely  outlines  remained;  and 
her  dark  eyes  seemed  tenfold  more  lustrous  in  contrast  with 
her  white  hair.  She  had  now  a  presence  that  the  most  stolid 
would  turn  and  look  after  with  a  wondering  pity  and  admira 
tion,  while  those  gifted  with  a  fine  perception  could  scarcely 
see  her  without  tears.  Graham  often  thought  that  if  she 
could  be  turned  into  marble  she  would  make  the  ideal  statue 
representing  the  women  of  both  the  contending  sections  whose 
hearts  the  war  had  broken. 

As  she  came  and  went,  and  as  he  eventually  spent  long 
hours  with  her  and  her  father,  she  became  to  him  a  study  of 
absorbing  interest,  in  which  his  old  analytical  bent  was  not 
wholly  wanting.  "What,"  he  asked  himself  every  hour  in 
the  day,  "will  be  the  effect  of  an  experience  like  this  on 
such  a  woman  ?  what  the  final  outcome  ?' '  There  was  in 
this  interest  no  curiosity,  in  the  vulgar  sense  of  the  word. 
It  was  rather  the  almost  sleepless  suspense  of  a  man  who 
has  everything  at  stake,  and  who,  in  watching  the  struggle 
of  another  mind  to  cope  with  misfortune,  must  learn  at  the 
same  time  his  own  fate.  It  was  far  more  than  this — it  was 
the  vigilance  of  one  who  would  offer  help  at  all  times  and  at 
any  cost.  Still,  so  strong  are  natural  or  acquired  character 
istics  that  he  could  not  do  this  without  manifesting  some  of 
the  traits  of  the  Alford  Graham  who  years  before  had  studied 
the  mirthful  Grace  St.  John  with  the  hope  of  analyzing  her 
power  and  influence.  And  had  he  been  wholly  indifferent 
to  her,  and  as  philosophical  and  cynical  as  once  it  was  his 
pride  to  think  he  was,  she  would  still  have  remained  an 
absorbing  study.  Her  sudden  and  awful  bereavement  had 
struck  her  strong  and  exceptional  spiritual  nature  with  the 
shattering  force  of  the  ball  that  crashes  through  muscle, 


A    WOUNDED   SPIRIT 

bone,  and  nerves.  In  the  latter  case  the  wound  may  be 
mortal,  or  it  may  cause  weakness  and  deformity.  The 
wounded  spirit  must  survive,  although  the  effects  of  the 
wound  may  be  even  more  serious  and  far-reaching — chang 
ing,  developing,  or  warping  character  to  a  degree  that  even 
the  most  experienced  cannot  predict.  Next  to  God,  time  is 
the  great  healer;  and  human  love,  guided  by  tact,  can  often 
achieve  signal  success. 

But  for  Graham  there  was  no  God;  and  it  must  be  said 
that  this  was  becoming  true  of  Grace  also.  As  Hilland  had 
feared,  the  influence  of  those  she  loved  and  trusted  most 
had  gradually  sapped  her  faith,  which  in  her  case  had  been 
more  a  cherished  tradition,  received  from  her  mother,  than 
a  vital  experience. 

Hilland's  longings  for  a  life  hereafter,  and  his  words  of 
regret  that  she  had  lost  the  faith  of  her  girlhood,  were  neu 
tralized  by  the  bitter  revolt  of  her  spirit  against  her  im 
measurable  misfortune.  Her  own  experience  was  to  her  a 
type  of  all  the  desolating  evil  and  sorrow  of  the  world ;  and 
in  her  agony  she  could  not  turn  to  a  God  who  permitted  such 
evil  and  suffering.  It  seemed  to  her  that  there  could  be  no 
merciful,  overruling  Providence — that  her  husband's  view, 
when  his  mind  was  in  its  most  vigorous  and  normal  state, 
was  more  rational  than  a  religion  which  taught  that  a  God 
who  loved  good  left  evil  to  make  such  general  havoc. 

"It's  the  same  blind  contention  of  forces  in  men  as  in  na 
ture,"  she  said  to  herself;  "and  only  the  strong  or  the  for 
tunate  survive." 

One  day  she  asked  Graham  abruptly,  "Do  you  believe 
that  the  human  spirit  lives  on  after  death?" 

He  was  sorely  troubled  to  know  how  to  answer  her,  but 
after  a  little  hesitation  said,  "I  feel,  as  your  husband  did, 
that  I  should  be  glad  if  you  had  the  faith  of  your  girlhood. 
I  think  it  would  be  a  comfort  to  you." 

"That's  truly  the  continental  view,  that  superstition  is 
useful  to  women.  Will  you  not  honestly  treat  me  as  your 
equal,  and  tell  me  what  you,  as  an  educated  man,  believe?" 


284  HIS    SOMBRE    RIVALS 

"No,"  he  replied,  gravely  and  sadly,  "I  will  only  recall 
with  emphasis  your  husband's  last  words." 

"You  are  loyal  to  him,  at  least;  and  I  respect  you  for 
it  But  I  know  what  you  believe,  and  what  Warren  be 
lieved  when  his  faculties  were  normal  and  unbiased  by  the 
intense  longing  of  his  heart.  I  am  only  a  woman,  Alford, 
but  I  must  use  such  little  reason  as  I  have;  and  no  being 
except  one  created  by  man's  ruthless  imagination  could  per 
mit  the  suffering  which  this  war  daily  entails.  It's  all  of 
the  earth,  earthy.  Alford,"  she  added,  in  low,  passionate 
utterance,  "I  could  believe  in  a  devil  more  easily  than  in  a 
God;  and  yet  my  unbelief  sinks  me  into  the  very  depths  of 
a  hopeless  desolation.  What  am  I?  A  mere  little  atom 
among  these  mighty  forces  and  passions  which  rock  the 
world  with  their  violence.  Oh,  I  was  so  happy !  and  now 
I  am  crushed  by  some  haphazard  bullet  shot  in  the  dark 
ness.  ' ' 

He  looked  at  her  wonderingly,  and  was  silent. 

"Alford,"  she  continued,  her  eyes  glowing  in  the  excite 
ment  of  her  strong,  passionate  spirit,  "I  will  not  succumb 
to  all  this  monstrous  evil.  If  I  am  but  a  transient  emana 
tion  of  the  earth,  and  must  soon  return  to  my  kindred  dust, 
still  I  can  do  a  little  to  diminish  the  awful  aggregate  of 
suffering.  My  nature,  earth-born  as  it  is,  revolts  at  a  selfish 
indifference  to  it  all.  Oh,  if  there  is  a  God,  why  does  He 
not  rend  the  heavens  in  His  haste  to  stay  the  black  torrents 
of  evil?  Why  does  He  not  send  the  angels  of  whom  my 
mother  told  me  when  a  child,  and  bid  them  stand  between 
the  armies  that  are  desolating  thousands  of  hearts  like 
mine?  Or  if  He  chooses  to  work  by  silent,  gentle  in 
fluences  like  those  of  spring,  why  does  He  not  bring  human 
hearts  together  that  are  akin,  and  enhance  the  content  and 
happiness  which  our  brief  life  permits  ?  But  no.  Unhappy 
mistakes  are  made.  Alas,  my  friend,  we  both  know  it  to 
our  sorrow !  Why  should  I  feign  ignorance  of  that  which 
your  unbounded  and  unselfish  devotion  has  proved  so 
often?  Why  should  you  not  know  that  before  this  deadly 


A    WOUNDED   SPIRIT  285 

stroke  fell  my  one  grief  was  that  you  suffered;  and  that  as 
long  as  I  could  pray  I  prayed  for  your  happiness  ?  Now  I 
can  see  only  merciless  force  or  blind  chance,  that  in  nature 
smites  with  the  tornado  the  lonely  forest  or  the  thriving 
village,  the  desolate  waves  or  some  ship  upon  them.  Men, 
with  all  their  boasted  reason,  are  even  worse.  What  could 
be  more  mad  and  useless  than  this  war  ?  Alford,  I  alone 
have  suffered  enough  to  make  the  thing  accursed;  and  I 
must  suffer  to  the  end:  and  I  am  only  one  of  countless 
women.  What  is  there  for  me,  what  for  them,  but  to  grow 
lonelier  and  sadder  every  day?  But  I  won't  submit  to  the 
evil.  I  won't  be  a  mere  bit  of  helpless  drift.  While  I  live 
there  shall  be  a  little  less  suffering  in  the  world.  Ah,  Al 
ford  !  you  see  how  far  removed  I  am  from  the  sportive  girl 
you  saw  on  that  May  evening  years  ago.  I  am  an  old,  white- 
haired,  broken-hearted  woman;  and  yet,"  with  a  grand 
look  in  her  eyes,  she  concluded,  "I  have  spirit  enough  left 
to  take  up  arms  against  all  the  evil  and  suffering  within  my 
reach.  I  know  how  puny  my  efforts  will  be;  but  I  would 
rather  try  to  push  back  an  avalanche  than  cower  before  it." 
Thus  she  revealed  to  him  the  workings  of  her  mind; 
and  he  worshipped  her  anew  as  one  of  the  gentlest  and  most 
loving  of  women,  and  yet  possessed  of  a  nature  so  strong 
that  under  the  guidance  of  reason  it  could  throw  off  the 
shackles  of  superstition  and  defy  even  fate.  Under  the  spell 
of  her  words  the  evil  of  the  world  did  seem  an  avalanche, 
not  of  snow,  but  of  black  molten  lava;  while  she,  too  brave 
and  noble  to  cower  and  cringe,  stood  before  it,  her  little 
hand  outstretchd  to  stay  its  deadly  onset. 


286  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

THE   WHITE-HAIRED   NURSE 

LIFE  at  the  two  cottages  was  extremely  secluded.  All 
who  felt  entitled  to  do  so  made  calls,  partly  of  con 
dolence  and  partly  from  curiosity.  The  occupants 
of  the  two  unpretending  dwellings  had  the  respect  of  the 
community;  but  from  their  rather  unsocial  ways  could  not 
be  popular.  The  old  major  had  ever  detested  society  in 
one  of  its  phases — that  is,  the  claims  of  mere  vicinage,  the 
duty  to  call  and  be  called  upon  by  people  who  live  near, 
when  there  is  scarcely  a  thought  or  taste  in  common.  With 
his  Southern  and  army  associations  he  had  drifted  to  a  New 
England  city;  but  he  ignored  the  city  except  as  it  furnished 
friends  and  things  that  pleased  him.  His  attitude  was  not 
contemptuous  or  unneighborly,  but  simply  indifferent. 

"I  don't  thrust  my  life  on  any  one,"  he  once  said  to 
Mrs.  May  burn,  ''except  you  and  Grace.  Why  should  other 
people  thrust  their  lives  on  me?" 

His  limited  income  had  required  economy,  and  his  in 
firmities  a  life  free  from  annoyance.  As  has  been  shown, 
Grace  had  practiced  the  one  with  heart  as  light  as  her  purse; 
and  had  interposed  her  own  sweet  self  between  the  irritable 
veteran  and  everything  that  could  vex  him.  The  calling 
world  had  had  its  revenge.  The  major  was  profane,  they 
had  said;  Grace  was  proud,  or  led  a  slavish  life.  The  most 
heinous  sin  of  all  was,  they  were  poor.  There  were  several 
families,  however,  whom  Grace  and  the  major  had  found 
congenial,  with  various  shades  of  difference;  and  the  young 
girl  had  never  lacked  all  the  society  she  cared  for.  Books 


THE    WHITE-HAIRED   NURSE  287 

had  been  her  chief  pleasure;  the  acquaintance  of  good 
whist-players  had  been  cultivated;  army  and  Southern 
friends  had  appeared  occasionally;  and  when  Mrs.  May- 
burn  had  become  a  neighbor,  she  had  been  speedily 
adopted  into  the  closest  intimacy.  When  flilland  had 
risen  above  their  horizon  he  soon  glorified  the  world  to 
Grace.  To  the  astonishment  of  society,  she  had  married  a 
millionaire,  and  they  had  all  continued  to  live  as  quietly 
and  unostentatiously  as  before.  There  had  been  another 
slight  effort  to  "know  the  people  at  the  St.  John  cottage," 
but  it  had  speedily  died  out.  The  war  had  brought  chiefly 
military  associations  and  absence.  Now  again  there  was  an 
influx  of  callers  largely  from  the  church  that  Grace  had 
once  attended.  Mrs.  Mayburn  received  the  majority  with 
a  grim  politeness,  but  discriminated  very  favorably  in  case 
of  those  who  came  solely  from  honest  sympathy.  All  were 
made  to  feel,  however,  that,  like  a  mourning  veil,  sorrow 
should  shield  its  victims  from  uninvited  observation. 

Hilland's  mother  had  long  been  dead,  and  his  father  died 
at  the  time  when  he  was  summoned  from  his  studies  in  Ger 
many.  While  on  good  terms  with  his  surviving  relatives, 
there  had  been  no  very  close  relationship  or  intimacy  re 
maining.  Grace  had  declared  that  she  wished  no  other 
funeral  service  than  the  one  conducted  by  the  good  old 
Confederate  pastor;  and  the  relatives,  learning  that  they 
had  no  interest  in  the  will,  speedily  discovered  that  they 
had  no  further  interest  whatever.  Thus  the  inmates  of  the 
two  cottages  were  left  to  pursue  their  own  shadowed  paths, 
with  little  interference  from  the  outside  world.  The  major 
treasured  a  few  cordial  eulogies  of  Hilland  cut  from  the 
journals  at  the  time;  and  except  in  the  hearts  wherein  he 
was  enshrined  a  living  image,  the  brave,  genial,  high-souled 
man  passed  from  men's  thoughts  and  memories,  like  thou 
sands  of  others  in  that  long  harvest  of  death. 

Graham's  wound  at  last  was  wellnigh  healed,  and  the 
time  was  drawing  near  for  his  return  to  the  army.  His 
general  had  given  such  a  very  favorable  account  of  the 


288  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

circumstances  attending  his  offence,  and  of  his  career  as  a 
soldier  both  before  and  after  the  affair,  that  the  matter  was 
quietly  ignored.  Moreover,  Hilland,  as  a  soldier  and  by 
reason  of  the  loyal  use  of  his  wealth,  stood  very  high  in 
the  estimation  of  the  war  authorities;  and  the  veteran 
major  was  not  without  his  surviving  circle  of  influential 
friends.  Graham,  therefore,  not  only  retained  his  rank, 
but  was  marked  for  promotion. 

Of  all  this,  howeve^,  he  thought  and  cared  little.  If  he 
had  loved  Grace  before,  he  idolized  her  now.  And  yet  with 
all  her  deep  affection  for  him  and  her  absolute  trust,  she 
seemed  more  remote  than  ever.  In  the  new  phase  of  her 
grief  she  was  ever  seeking  to  do  little  things  which  she 
thought  would  please  him.  But  this  was  also  true  of  her 
course  toward  Mrs.  Mayburn,  especially  so  toward  her 
father,  and  also,  to  a  certain  extent,  toward  the  poor  and 
sick  in  the  vicinity.  Her  one  effort  seemed  to  be  to  escape 
from  her  thoughts,  herself,  in  a  ceaseless  ministry  to  others. 
And  the  effort  sometimes  degenerated  into  restlessness. 
There  was  such  a  lack  of  repose  in  her  manner  that  even 
those  who  loved  her  most  were  pained  and  troubled.  There 
was  not  enough  to  keep  her  busy  all  the  time,  and  yet  she 
was  ever  impelled  to  do  something. 

One  day  she  said  to  Graham,  "I  wish  I  could  go  back 
with  you  to  the  war;  not  that  I  wish  to  shed  another  drop 
of  blood,  but  I  would  like  to  march,  march  forever." 

Shrewd  Mrs.  Mayburn,  who  had  been  watching  Grace 
closely  for  the  last  week  or  two,  said  quietly:  "Take  her 
back  with  you,  Alford.  Let  her  become  a  nurse  in  some 
hospital.  It  will  do  both  her  and  a  lot  of  poor  fellows  a 
world  of  good." 

"Mrs.  Mayburn,  you  have  thought  of  just  the  thing,'' 
cried  Grace.  "In  a  hospital  full  of  sick  and  wounded  men 
I  could  make  my  life  amount  to  something;  I  should  never 
need  to  be  idle  then. ' ' 

"Yes,  you  would.  You  would  be  under  orders  like 
Alford,  and  would  have  to  rest  when  off  duty.  But,  as 


THE    WHITE-HAIRED   NURSE  289 

you  say,  you  could  be  of  great  service,  instead  of  wasting 
your  energy  in  coddling  two  old  people.  You  might  save 
many  a  poor  fellow's  life. " 

"Oh,"  she  exclaimed,  clasping  her  hands,  "the  bare 
thought  of  saving  one  poor  woman  from  such  suffering  as 
mine  is  almost  overwhelming.  But  how  can  1  leave  papa  ?' ' 

"I'll  take  care  of  the  major  and  insure  his  consent.  If 
men  are  so  possessed  to  make  wounds,  it's  time  women  did 
more  to  cure  them.  It's  all  settled:  you  are  to  go.  I'll  see 
the  major  about  it  now,  if  he  has  just  begun  his  newspaper;" 
and  the  old  lady  took  her  knitting  and  departed  with  her 
wonted  prompt  energy. 

At  first  Graham  was  almost  speechless  from  surprise, 
mingled  doubt  and  pleasure;  but  the  more  he  thought  of  it, 
the  more  he  was  convinced  that  the  plan  was  an  inspiration. 

"Alford,  you  will  take  me?"  she  said,  appealingly. 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  smilingly,  "if  you  will  promise  to 
obey  my  orders  in  part,  as  well  as  those  of  your  superiors." 

"I'll  promise  anything  if  you  will  only  take  me.  Am 
I  not  under  your  care?" 

"Oh,  Grace,  Grace,  I  can  do  so  little  for  you!" 

"No  one  living  can  do  more.  In  providing  this  chance 
of  relieving  a  little  pain,  of  preventing  a  little  suffering, 
you  help  me,  you  serve  me,  you  comfort  me,  as  no  one 
else  could.  And,  Alford,  if  you  are  wounded,  come  to  the 
hospital  where  I  am;  I  will  never  leave  you  till  you  are 
well.  Take  me  to  some  exposed  place  in  the  field,  where 
there  is  danger,  where  men  are  brought  in  desperately 
wounded,  where  you  would  be  apt  to  be. ' ' 

"I  don't  know  where  I  shall  be,  but  I  would  covet  any 
wound  that  would  bring  you  to  my  side  as  nurse." 

She  thought  a  few  moments,  and  then  said,  resolutely: 
"I  will  keep  as  near  to  you  as  I  can.  1  ask  no  pay  for  my 
services.  On  the  contrary,  I  will  employ  my  useless  wealth 
in  providing  for  exposed  hospitals.  When  I  attempt  to  take 
care  of  the  sick  or  wounded,  I  will  act  scrupulously  under 
the  orders  of  the  surgeon  in  charge;  but  I  do  not  see  why, 
M— ROB— XIII 


290  BIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

if  I  pay  my  own  way,  I  cannot  come  and  go  as  I  think  I  can 
be  the  most  useful." 

"Perhaps  you  could,  to  a  certain  extent,  if  you  had  a 
permit,"  said  Graham,  thoughtfully;  "but  I  think  you 
would  accomplish  more  by  remaining  in  one  hospital  and 
acquiring  skill  by  regular  work.  It  would  be  a  source  of 
indescribable  anxiety  to  me  to  think  of  your  going  about 
alone.  If  I  know  just  where  you  are,  I  can  find  you  and 
write  to  you. ' ' 

"I  will  do  just  what  you  wish,"  she  said,  gently. 

"I  wish  for  only  what  is  best  for  you." 

"I  know  that.     It  would  be  strange  if  I  did  not." 

Mrs.  Mayburn  was  not  long  in  convincing  the  major 
that  her  plan  might  be  the  means  of  incalculable  benefit  to 
Grace  as  well  as  to  others.  He,  as  well  as  herself  and  Gra 
ham,  had  seen  with  deep  anxiety  that  Grace  was  giving 
way  to  a  fever  of  unrest;  and  he  acquiesced  in  the  view 
that  it  might  better  run  its  course  in  wholesome  and  useful 
activity,  amid  scenes  of  suffering  that  might  tend  to  recon 
cile  her  to  her  own  sorrow. 

Graham,  however,  took  the  precaution  of  calling  on  Dr. 
Markham,  who,  to  his  relief,  heartily  approved  of  the 
measure.  On  one  point  Graham  was  firm.  He  would  not 
permit  her  to  go  to  a  hospital  in  the  field,  liable  to  vicissi 
tudes  from  sudden  movements  of  the  contending  armies. 
fie  found  one  for  her,  however,  in  which  she  would  have 
ample  scope  for  all  her  efforts ;  and  before  he  left  he  inter 
ested  those  in  charge  so  deeply  in  the  white-haired  nurse 
that  he  felt  she  would  always  be  under  watchful,  friendly 
eyes. 

"Grace,"  he  said,  as  he  was  taking  leave,  "I  have  tried 
to  be  a  true  friend  to  you." 

"Oh,  Alford!"  she  exclaimed,  and  she  seized  his  hand 
and  held  it  in  both  of  hers. 

His  face  grew  stern  rather  than  tender  as  he  added: 
"You  will  not  be  a  true  friend  to  me — you  will  wrong  me 
deeply — if  you  are  reckless  of  your  health  and  strength. 


THE    WHITE-HAIRED   NURSE  291 

.Remember  that,  like  myself,  you  have  entered  the  service, 
and  that  you  are  pbdged  to  do  your  duty,  and  not  to  work 
with  feverish  zeal  until  your  strength  fails.  You  are  just 
as  much  under  obligation  to  take  essential  rest  as  to  care 
for  the  most  sorely  wounded  in  your  ward.  I  shall  take  the 
advice  I  give.  Believing  that  I  am  somewhat  essential  to 
your  welfare  and  the  happiness  of  those  whom  we  have  left 
at  home,  I  chall  incur  no  risks  beyond  those  which  properly 
fall  to  my  lot.  I  ask  you  to  be  equally  conscientious  and 
considerate  of  those  whose  lives  are  bound  up  in  you. ' ' 

"I'll  try,"  she  said,  with  that  same  pathetic  look  and 
utterance  which  had  so  moved  him  on  the  fearful  night  of 
his  return  from  the  army.  "But,  Alford,  do  not  speak  to 
me  so  gravely,  I  had  almost  said  sternly,  just  as  we  are 
saying  good-by." 

He  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips,  and  smiled  into  her  plead 
ing  face  as  he  replied,  "I  only  meant  to  impress  you  with 
the  truth  that  you  have  a  patient  who  is  not  in  your  ward — 
one  who  will  often  be  sleeping  under  the  open  sky,  I  know 
not  where.  Care  a  little  for  him,  as  well  as  for  the  unknown 
men  in  your  charge.  This  you  can  do  only  by  taking  care 
of  yourself.  You,  of  all  others,  should  know  that  there  are 
wounds  besides  those  which  will  bring  men  to  this  hospital. " 

Tears  rushed  into  her  eyes  as  she  faltered,  "You  could 
not  have  made  a  stronger  appeal.'* 

"You  will  write  to  me  often?" 

"Yes,  and  you  cannot  write  too  often.  Oh,  Alford,  1 
cannot  wish  you  had  never  seen  me;  but  it  would  have  been 
far,  far  better  for  you  if  you  had  not." 

"No,  no,"  he  said,  in  low,  strong  emphasis.  "Grace 
Hilland,  I  would  rather  be  your  friend  than  have  the  love 
of  any  woman  that  ever  lived." 

"You  do  yourself  great  wrong  (pardon  me  for  saying  it, 
but  your  happiness  is  so  dear  to  me),  you  do  yourself  great 
wrong.  A  girl  like  Pearl  Anderson  could  make  you  truly 
happy;  and  you  could  make  her  happy." 

"Sweet  little  Pearl  will  be  happy  some  day;  and  I  may 


292  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

be  one  of  the  causes,  but  not  in  the  way  you  suggest.  It  is 
hard  to  say  good-by  and  leave  you  here  alone,  and  every 
moment  1  stay  only  makes  it  harder  ' ' 

He  raised  her  hand  once  more  to  his  lips,  then  almost 
rushed  away. 

Days  lapsed  into  weeks,  and  weeks  into  months.  The 
tireless  nurse  alleviated  suffering  of  every  kind;  and  her 
silvery  hair  was  like  a  halo  around  a  saintly  head  to  many 
a  poor  fellow.  She  had  the  deep  solace  of  knowing  that 
not  a  few  wives  and  mothers  would  have  mourned  had  it 
not  been  for  her  faithfulness. 

But  her  own  wound  would  not  heal.  She  sometimes  felt 
that  she  was  slowly  bleeding  to  death.  The  deep,  dark  tide 
of  suffering,  in  spite  of  all  she  could  do,  grew  deeper  and 
darker;  and  she  was  growing  weary  and  discouraged. 

Graham  saw  her  at  rare  intervals;  and  although  she 
brightened  greatly  at  his  presence,  and  made  heroic  efforts 
to  satisfy  him  that  she  was  doing  well,  he  grew  anxious 
and  depressed.  But  there  was  nothing  tangible,  nothing 
definite.  She  was  only  a  little  paler,  a  little  thinner;  and 
when  he  spoke  of  iu  she  smilingly  told  him  that  he  was 
growing  gaunt  himself  whh  his  hard  campaigning. 

"But  you,  Grace,"  he  complained,  "are  beginning  to 
look  like  a  wraith  that  may  vanish  some  moonlight 
night." 

Her  letters  were  frequent,  sometimes  even  cheerful,  but 
brief.  He  wrote  at  great  length,  filling  his  pages  with 
descriptions  of  nature,  with  scenes  that  were  often  humor 
ous  but  not  trivial,  with  genuine  life,  but  none  of  its  froth. 
Life  for  both  had  become  too  deep  a  tragedy  for  any  non 
sense.  He  passed  through  many  dangers,  but  these,  as  far 
as  possible,  he  kept  in  the  background;  and  fate,  pitying 
his  one  deep  wound,  spared  him  any  others. 

At  last  there  came  the  terrible  battle  of  the  Wilderness, 
and  the  wards  were  filled  with  desperately  wounded  men. 
The  poor  nurse  gathered  up  her  failing  powers  for  one  more 
effort;  and  Confederate  and  Union  men  looked  after  her 


THE    WHITE-HATRED   NURSE  293 

wonderingly  and  reverently,  even  in  their  mortal  weak 
ness.  To  many  she  seemed  like  a  ministering  spirit  rather 
than  a  woman  of  flesh  and  blood;  and  lips  of  dying  men 
blessed  her  again  and  again.  But  they  brought  no  blessing. 
She  only  shuddered  and  grew  more  faint  of  heart  as  the 
scenes  of  agony  and  death  increased.  Each  wound  was  a 
type  of  Hilland's  wound,  and  in  every  expiring  man  she 
saw  her  husband  die.  Her  poor  little  hands  trembled  now 
as  she  sought  to  stem  the  black,  black  tide  that  deepened 
and  broadened  and  foamed  around  her. 

Late  one  night,  after  a  new  influx  of  the  wounded,  she 
was  greatly  startled  while  passing  down  her  ward  by  hearing 
a  voice  exclaim,  "Grace — Grace  Brentford!" 

It  was  her  mother's  name. 

The  call  was  repeated;  and  she  tremblingly  approached 
a  cot  on  which  was  lying  a  gray- haired  man. 

"Great  God!"  he  exclaimed,  "am  I  dreaming?  am  I  de 
lirious  ?  How  is  it  that  I  see  before  me  the  woman  I  loved 
forty-odd  years  ago  ?  You  cannot  be  Grace  Brentford,  for 
she  died  long  years  since." 

"No,  but  I  am  her  daughter." 

"Her  daughter!"  said  the  man,  struggling  to  rise  upon 
his  elbow — "her  daughter!  She  should  not  look  older  than 
you." 

"Alas,  sir,  my  age  is  not  the  work  of  time,  but  of  grief. 
I  grew  old  in  a  day.  But  if  you  knew  and  loved  my  mother, 
you  have  sacred  claims  upon  me.  I  am  a  nurse  in  this  ward, 
and  will  devote  myself  to  you." 

The  man  sank  back  exhausted.  "This  is  strange,  strange 
indeed,"  he  said.  "It  is  God's  own  providence.  Yes,  my 
child,  I  loved  your  mother,  and  I  love  her  still.  Harry  St. 
John  won  her  fairly;  but  he  could  not  have  loved  her  better 
than  I.  I  am  now  a  lonely  old  man,  dying,  I  believe,  in  my 
enemy's  hands,  but  i  thank  God  that  I've  seen  Grace  Brent 
ford's  child,  and  that  she  can  soothe  my  last  hours." 

"Do  not  feel  so  discouraged  about  yourself,"  said  Grace, 
her  tears  falling  fast.  "Think  rather  that  you  have  been 


294  BIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

brought  here  that  1  might  nurse  you  back  to  life.  Believe 
me,  I  will  do  so  with  tender,  loving  care." 

"How  strange  it  all  is!"  the  man  said  again.  "You  have 
her  very  voice,  her  manner.  But  it  was  by  your  eyes  that 
I  recognized  you.  Your  eyes  are  young  and  beautiful  like 
hers,  and  full  of  tears,  as  hers  were  when  she  sent  me  away 
with  an  ache  in  my  heart  that  has  never  ceased.  It  will 
soon  be  cured  now.  Your  father  will  remember  a  wild 
young  planter  down  in  Georgia  by  the  name  of  Phil 
Harkness." 

"Indeed,  sir,  I've  heard  both  of  my  parents  speak  of 
you,  and  it  was  ever  with  respect  and  esteem." 

"Give  my  greeting  to  your  father,  and  say  I  never  bore 
him  any  ill-will.  In  the  saddest  life  there  is  always  some 
compensation.  I  have  had  wealth  and  honors;  I  am  a  col 
onel  in  our  army,  and  have  been  able  to  serve  the  cause  I 
loved;  bat,  chief  of  all,  the  child  of  Grace  Brentford  is  by 
my  side  at  the  end.  Is  your  name  Grace  also  ?' ' 

"Yes.    Oh,  why  is  the  world  so  full  of  hopeless  trouble  ?" 

"Not  hopeless  trouble,  my  child.  I  am  not  hopeless. 
For  long  years  I  have  had  peace,  if  not  happiness — a  deep 
inward  calm  which  the  confusion  and  roar  of  the  bloodiest 
battles  could  not  disturb.  I  can  close  my  eyes  now  in  my 
final  sleep  as  quietly  as  a  child.  In  a  few  hours,  my  dear, 
I  may  see  your  mother;  and  I  shall  tell  her  that  I  left  her 
child  assuaging  her  own  sorrow  by  ministering  to  others." 

"Oh,  oh!"  sobbed  Grace,  "pray  cease,  or  I  shall  not  be 
fit  for  my  duties;  your  words  pierce  my  very  soul.  Let  me 
nurse  you  back  to  health.  Let  me  take  you  to  my  home 
until  you  are  exchanged,  for  I  must  return.  I  must,  must. 
My  strength  is  going  fast;  and  you  bring  before  me  my  dear 
old  father  whom  I  have  left  too  long." 

"My  poor  child!  God  comfort  and  sustain  you.  Do  not 
let  ine  keep  you  longer  from  your  duties,  and  from  those 
who  need  you  more  than  I.  Come  and  say  a  word  to  me 
when  you  can.  That's  all  I  ask.  My  wound  was  dressed 
before  your  watch  began,  and  I  am  doing  as  well  as  I  could 


THE    WHITE-HAIRED   NURSE  295 

expect.  When  you  feel  like  it,  you  can  tell  me  more  about 
yourself." 

Their  conversation  had  been  in  a  low  tone  as  she  sat 
beside  him,  the  patients  near  either  sleeping  or  too  preoccu 
pied  by  their  own  suflbrings  to  give  much  heed. 

Weary  and  oppressed  by  bitter  despondency,  she  went 
from  cot  to  cot,  attending  to  the  wants  of  those  in  her 
charge.  To  her  the  old  colonel's  sad  history  seemed  a 
mockery  of  his  faith,  and  but  another  proof  of  a  godless 
or  God-forgotten  world.  She  envied  his  belief,  with  its 
hope  and  peace;  but  he  had  only  increased  her  unbelief. 
But  all  through  the  long  night  she  watched  over  him,  com 
ing  often  to  his  side  with  delicacies  and  wine,  and  with 
gentle  words  that  were  far  more  grateful. 

Once,  as  she  was  smoothing  back  his  gray  locks  from  his 
damp  forehead,  he  smiled,  and  murmured,  "God  bless  you, 
my  child.  This  is  a  foretaste  of  heaven." 

In  the  gray  dawn  she  came  to  him  and  said,  "My  watch 
is  over,  and  I  must  leave  you  for  a  little  while;  but  as  soon 
as  I  have  rested  I  will  come  again." 

' '  Grace, ' '  he  faltered,  hesitatingly, ' '  would  you  mind  kissing 
an  old,  old  man  ?  I  never  had  a  child  of  my  own  to  kiss  me. ' ' 

She  stooped  down  and  kissed  him  again  and  again,  and 
he  felt  her  hot  tears  upon  his  face. 

"You  have  a  tender  heart,  my  dear,"  he  said,  gently. 
"Good-by,  Grace — Grace  Brentford's  child.  Dear  Grace, 
when  we  meet  again  perhaps  all  tears  will  be  wiped  from 
your  eyes  forever." 

She  stole  away  exhausted  and  almost  despairing.  On 
reaching  her  little  room  she  sank  on  her  couch,  moaning; 
"Oh,  Warren,  Warren,  would  that  I  were  sleeping  your 
dreamless  sleep  beside  you!" 

Long  before  it  was  time  for  her  to  go  on  duty  again  she 
returned  to  the  ward  to  visit  her  aged  friend.  His  cot  was 
empty.  In  reply  to  her  eager  question  she  was  told  that  he 
had  died  suddenly  from  internal  hemorrhage  soon  after  she 
had  left  him. 


296  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

She  looked  dazed  for  a  moment,  as  if  she  had  received  a 
blow,  then  fell  fainting  on  the  cot  from  which  her  mother's 
friend  had  been  taken.  The  limit  of  her  endurance  was 


Before  the  day  closed,  the  surgeon  in  charge  of  the  hos 
pital  told  her  gently  and  firmly  that  she  must  take  an  in 
definite  leave  of  absence.  She  departed  at  once  in  the  care 
of  an  attendant;  but  stories  of  the  white-haired  nurse  lin 
gered  so  long  in  the  ward  and  hospital  that  at  last  they 
began  to  grow  vague  and  marvellous,  like  the  legends  of 
a  saint. 


RITA'S   BROTHER  297 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 
RITA'S  BROTHER 

ALL  through  the  campaign  of  '64  the  crimson  tide  of 
war  deepened  and  broadened.  Even  Graham's  cool 
and  veteran  spirit  was  appalled  at  the  awful  slaugh 
ter  on  either  side.  The  Army  of  the  Potomac — the  grand 
est  army  ever  organized,  and  always  made  more  sublime  and 
heroic  by  defeat — was  led  by  a  man  as  remorseless  as  fate. 
He  was  fate  to  thousands  of  loyal  men,  whom  he  placed  at 
will  as  coolly  as  if  they  had  been  the  pieces  on  a  chess 
board.  He  was  fate  to  the  Confederacy,  upon  whose  throat 
he  placed  his  iron  grasp,  never  relaxed  until  life  was  extinct. 
In  May,  1864,  he  quietly  crossed  the  Rapidan  for  the  death- 
grapple.  He  took  the  most  direct  route  for  Richmond,  ig 
noring  all  obstacles  and  the  fate  of  his  predecessors.  To 
think  that  General  Grant  wished  to  fight  the  battle  of  the 
Wilderness  is  pure  idiocy.  One  would  almost  as  soon 
choose  the  Dismal  Swamp  for  a  battleground.  It  was 
undoubtedly  his  hope  to  pass  beyond  that  gloomy  tangle, 
over  which  the  shadow  of  death  had  brooded  ever  since  fatal 
Chancellorsville.  But  Lee,  his  brilliant  and  vigilant  oppo 
nent,  rarely  lost  an  advantage;  and  Graham's  experienced 
eye,  as  with  the  cavalry  he  was  in  the  extreme  advance, 
clearly  saw  that  their  position  would  give  their  foes  enor 
mous  advantages.  Lee's  movements  would  be  completely 
masked  by  the  almost  impervious  growth.  He  and  his  lieu 
tenants  could  approach  within  striking  distance,  whenever 
they  chose,  without  being  seen,  and  had  little  to  fear  from 
the  Union  artillery,  which  the  past  had  given  them  much 
cause  to  dread.  It  was  a  region  also  to  disgust  the  very 


298  BIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

soul  of  a  cavalryman;  for  the  low,  scrubby  growth  lined 
the  narrow  roads  almost  as  effectually  as  the  most  scien 
tifically  prepared  abatis. 

Graham's  surmise  was  correct.  Lee  would  not  wait  till 
his  antagonist  had  reached  open  and  favorable  ground,  but 
he  made  an  attack  at  once,  where,  owing  to  peculiarities  of 
position,  one  of  his  thin  regiments  had  often  the  strength 
of  a  brigade. 

On  the  morning  of  the  5th  of  May  began  one  of  the  most 
awful  and  bloody  battles  in  the  annals  of  warfare.  Indeed 
it  was  the  beginning  of  one  long  and  almost  continuous 
struggle  which  ended  only  at  Appomattox. 

With  a  hundred  thousand  more,  Graham  was  swept  into 
the  bloody  vortex,  and  through  summer  heat,  autumn  rains, 
and  winter  cold,  he  marched  and  fought  with  little  rest.  He 
was  eventually  given  the  colonelcy  of  his  regiment,  and  at 
times  commanded  a  brigade.  He  passed  through  unnum 
bered  dangers  unscathed;  and  his  invulnerability  became  a 
proverb  among  his  associates.  Indeed  he  was  a  mystery  to 
them,  for  his  face  grew  sadder  and  sterner  every  day,  and 
his  reticence  about  himself  and  all  his  affairs  was  often  re 
marked  upon.  His  men  and  officers  had  unbounded  respect 
for  him,  that  was  not  wholly  unmixed  with  fear;  for  while 
he  was  considerate,  and  asked  for  no  exposure  to  danger  in 
which  he  did  not  share,  his  steady  discipline  was  never  re 
laxed,  and  he  kept  himself  almost  wholly  aloof,  except  as 
their  military  relations  required  contact.  He  could  not, 
therefore,  be  popular  among  the  hard-swearing,  rollicking, 
and  convivial  cavalrymen.  In  a  long  period  of  inaction  he 
might  have  become  very  unpopular,  but  the  admirable  man 
ner  in  which  he  led  them  in  action,  and  his  sagacious  care 
of  them  and  their  horses  on  the  march  and  in  camp,  led 
them  to  trust  him  implicitly.  Chief  of  all,  he  had  acquired 
that  which  with  the  stern  veterans  of  that  day  went  further 
than  anything  else — a  reputation  for  dauntless  courage. 
What  they  objected  to  were  his  "glum  looks  and  unsocial 
ways,"  as  they  termed  them. 


RITA'S   BROTHER  299 

They  little  knew  that  his  cold,  stern  face  hid  suffering 
that  was  growing  almost  desperate  in  its  intensity.  They 
little  knew  that  he  was  chained  to  his  military  duty  as  to 
a  rock,  while  a  vulture  of  anxiety  was  eating  out  his  very 
heart.  What  was  a  pale,  thin,  white-haired  woman  to  them  ? 
But  what  to  him?  How  true  it  is  that  often  the  heaviest 
burdens  of  life  are  those  at  which  the  world  would  laugh,  and 
of  which  the  overweighted  heart  cannot  and  will  not  speak! 

For  a  long  time  after  his  plunge  into  the  dreary  depths 
of  the  Wilderness  he  had  received  no  letters.  Then  he  had 
learned  of  Grace's  return  home;  and  at  first  he  was  glad  in 
deed.  His  aunt  had  written  nothing  more  alarming  than 
that  Grace  had  overtaxed  her  strength  in  caring  for  the 
throngs  of  wounded  men  sent  from  the  Wilderness,  that 
she  needed  rest  and  good  tonic  treatment.  Then  came 
word  that  she  was  "better";  then  they  "hoped  she  was 
gaining";  then  they  were  about  to  go  to  "the  seashore, 
and  Grace  had  always  improved  in  salt  air."  It  was  then 
intimated  that  she  had  found  "the  summer  heat  very  ener 
vating,  and  now  that  fall  winds  were  blowing  she  would 
grow  stronger."  At  last,  at  the  beginning  of  winter,  it 
was  admitted  that  she  had  not  improved  as  they  had  hoped ; 
but  they  thought  she  was  holding  her  own  very  well — that 
the  continued  and  terrific  character  of  the  war  oppressed  her 
— and  that  every  day  she  dreaded  to  hear  that  he  had  been 
stricken  among  other  thousands. 

Thus,  little  by  little,  ever  softened  by  some  excuse  or 
some  hope,  the  bitter  truth  grew  plain:  Grace  was  failing, 
fading,  threatening  to  vanish.  He  wrote  as  often  as  he 
could,  and  sought  with  all  his  skill  to  cheer,  sustain,  and 
reconcile  her  to  life.  At  first  she  wrote  to  him  not  infre 
quently,  but  her  letters  grew  further  and  further  apart,  and 
at  last  she  wrote,  in  the  early  spring  of  '66. 

"I  wish  I  could  see  you,  Alford;  but  I  know  it  is  impos 
sible.  You  are  strong,  you  are  doing  much  to  end  this  aw 
ful  war,  and  it's  your  duty  to  remain  at  your  post.  You 
must  not  sully  your  perfect  image  in  my  mind,  or  add  to 


800  BIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

my  unhappiness  by  leaving  the  service  now  for  my  sake.  I 
have  learned  the  one  bitter  lesson  of  the  times.  No  matter 
how  much  personal  agony,  physical  or  mental,  is  involved, 
the  war  must  go  on;  and  each  one  must  keep  his  place  in 
the  ranks  till  he  falls  or  is  disabled.  I  have  fallen.  I  am 
disabled.  My  wound  will  not  close,  and  drop  by  drop  life 
and  strength  are  ebbing.  I  know  I  disappoint  you,  my 
true,  true  friend;  but  I  cannot  help  it.  Do  not  reproach 
me.  Do  not  blame  me  too  harshly.  Think  me  weak,  as  I 
truly  am.  Indeed,  when  I  am  gone  your  chances  will  be 
far  better.  It  costs  me  a  great  effort  to  write  this.  There  is 
a  weight  on  my  hand  and  brain  as  well  as  on  my  heart 
Hereafter  I  will  send  my  messages  through  dear,  kind  Mrs. 
Mayburn,  who  has  been  a  mother  to  me  in  all  my  sorrow. 
Do  not  fear:  I  will  wait  till  you  can  come  with  honor;  for 
I  must  see  you  once  more." 

For  a  long  time  after  receiving  this  letter  a  despair  fell 
on  Graham,  fle  was  so  mechanical  in  the  performance  of 
his  duties  that  his  associates  wondered  at  him,  and  he  grew 
more  gaunt  and  haggard  than  ever.  Then  in  sharp  reaction 
came  a  feverish  eagerness  to  see  the  war  ended. 

Indeed  all  saw  that  the  end  was  near,  and  none,  prob 
ably,  more  clearly  than  the  gallant  and  indomitable  Lee 
himself.  At  last  the  Confederate  army  was  outflanked,  the 
lines  around  Petersburg  were  broken  through,  and  the  final 
pursuit  began.  It  was  noted  that  Graham  fought  and  charged 
with  an  almost  tiger- like  fierceness;  and  for  once  his  men  said 
with  reason  that  he  had  no  mercy  on  them.  He  was  almost 
counting  the  hours  until  the  time  when  he  could  sheathe  his 
sword  and  say  with  honor,  "I  resign." 

One  morning  they  struck  a  large  force  of  the  enemy,  and 
he  led  a  headlong  charge.  For  a  time  the  fortunes  of  the 
battle  wavered,  for  the  Confederates  fought  with  the  cour 
age  of  desperation.  Graham  on  his  powerful  horse  soon  be 
came  a  conspicuous  object,  and  all  gave  way  before  him  as 
if  he  were  a  messenger  of  death,  at  the  same  time  wonder 
ing  at  his  invulnerability. 


RITA'S    BROTHER  301 

The  battle  surged  on  and  forward  until  the  enemy  were 
driven  into  a  thick  piece  of  woods.  Graham  on  the  right  of 
his  line  directed  his  bugler  to  give  the  order  to  dismount, 
and  a  moment  later  his  line  of  battle  plunged  into  the  for 
est.  In  the  desperate  m$lee  that  followed  in  the  under 
brush,  he  was  lost  to  sight  except  to  a  few  of  his  men.  It 
was  here  that  he  found  himself  confronted  by  a  Confederate 
officer,  from  whose  eyes  flashed  the  determination  either  to 
slay  or  to  be  slain.  Graham  had  crossed  swords  with  him 
but  a  moment  when  he  recognized  that  he  had  no  ordinary 
antagonist;  and  with  his  instinct  of  fight  aroused  to  its 
highest  pitch  he  gave  himself  up  wholly  to  a  personal  and 
mortal  combat,  shouting  meantime  to  those  near,  "Leave 
this  man  to  me." 

Looking  his  opponent  steadily  in  the  eye,  like  a  true 
swordsman,  he  remained  first  on  the  defensive;  and  such 
was  his  skill  that  his  long,  straight  blade  was  a  shield  as 
well  as  a  weapon.  Suddenly  the  dark  eyes  and  features  of 
his  opponent  raised  before  him  the  image  of  Rita  Ander 
son;  and  he  was  so  overcome  for  a  second  that  the  Con 
federate  touched  his  breast  with  his  sabre  and  drew  blood. 
That  sharp  prick  and  the  thought  that  Rita's  brother  might 
be  before  him  aroused  every  faculty  and  power  of  his  mind 
and  body.  His  sword  was  a  shield  again,  and  he  shouted, 
"Is  not  your  name  Henry  Anderson  ?" 

"My  name  is  our  cause, "'was  the  defiant  answer;  "with 
it  I  will  live  or  die." 

Then  came  upon  Graham  one  of  those  rare  moments  in 
his  life  when  no  mortal  man  could  stand  before  him.  Ceas 
ing  his  wary,  rapid  fence,  his  sword  played  like  lightning; 
and  in  less  than  a  moment  the  Confederate's  sabre  flew  from 
his  hand,  and  he  stood  helpless. 

"Strike,"  he  said,  sullenly;  "I  won't  surrender." 

"I'd  sooner  cut  oft  my  right  hand,"  replied  Graham,  smil 
ing  upon  him,  "than  strike  the  brother  of  Rita  Anderson." 

"Is  your  name  Graham?"  asked  his  opponent,  his  aspect 
Hanging  instantly. 


302  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

"Yes;  and  you  are  Henry.  I  saw  your  sister's  eyes  in 
yours.  Take  up  your  sword,  and  go  quietly  to  the  rear  as 
my  friend,  not  prisoner.  I  adjure  you,  by  the  name  of  your 
old  and  honored  father  and  your  noble- hearted  sister,  to  let 
me  keep  my  promise  to  them  to  save  your  life,  were  it  ever 
in  my  power." 

"I  yield,"  said  the  young  man,  in  deep  despondency. 
"Our  cause  is  lost,  and  you  are  the  only  man  in  the  North 
to  whom  1  should  be  willing  to  surrender.  Colonel,  I  will 
obey  your  orders." 

Summoning  his  orderly  and  another  soldier,  he  said  to 
them,  "Escort  this  gentleman  to  the  rear.  Let  him  keep 
his  arms.  I  have  too  much  confidence  in  you,  Colonel  An 
derson,  even  to  ask  that  you  promise  not  to  escape.  Treat 
him  with  respect.  He  will  share  my  quarters  to-night." 
And  then  he  turned  and  rushed  onward  to  overtake  the 
extreme  advance  of  his  line,  wondering  at  the  strange  scene 
which  had  passed  with  almost  the  rapidity  of  thought. 

That  night  by  Graham's  camp-fire  began  a  friendship  be 
tween  himself  and  Henry  Anderson  which  would  be  life 
long.  The  latter  asked,  "Have  you  heard  from  my  father 
and  sister  since  you  parted  with  them?" 

"No.  My  duties  have  carried  me  far  away  from  that  re 
gion.  But  it  is  a  source  of  unspeakable  gratification  that 
we  have  met,  and  that  you  can  tell  me  of  their  welfare." 

"It  does  seem  as  if  destiny,  or,  as  father  would  say, 
Providence,  had  linked  my  fortunes  and  those  of  my  family 
with  you.  He  and  Rita  would  actually  have  suffered  with 
hunger  but  for  you.  Since  you  were  there  the  region  has 
been  tramped  and  fought  over  by  the  forces  of  both  sides, 
and  swept  bare.  My  father  mentioned  your  name  and  that 
of  Colonel  Hilland ;  and  a  guard  was  placed  over  his  house, 
and  he  and  Rita  were  saved  from  any  personal  annoyance. 
But  all  of  his  slaves,  except  the  old  woman  you  remember, 
were  either  run  off  or  enticed  away,  and  his  means  of  live 
lihood  practically  destroyed.  Old  Uncle  Jehu  and  his  son 
Huey  have  almost  supported  them.  They,  simple  souls, 


RITA'S    BROTHER  303 

could  not  keep  your  secret,  though  they  tried  to  after  their 
clumsy  fashion.  My  pay,  you  know,  was  almost  worth 
less;  and  indeed  there  was  little  left  for  them  to  buy. 
Colonel  Graham,  I  am  indebted  to  you  for  far  more  than 
life,  which  has  become  wellnigh  a  burden  to  me." 

"Life  has  brought  far  heavier  burdens  to  others  than  to 
you,  Colonel  Anderson.  Those  you  love  are  living;  and 
to  provide  for  and  protect  such  a  father  and  sister  as  you 
possess  might  well  give  zest  to  any  life.  Your  cause  is 
lost;  and  the  time  may  come  sooner  than  you  expect  when 
you  will  be  right  glad  of  it.  I  know  you  cannot  think  so 
now,  and  we  will  not  dwell  on  this  topic.  I  can  testify  from 
four  years'  experience  that  no  cause  was  ever  defended  with 
higher  courage  or  more  heroic  self-sacrifice.  But  your 
South  is  not  lost;  and  it  will  be  the  fault  of  its  own  people 
if  it  does  not  work  out  a  grander  destiny  within  the  Union 
than  it  could  ever  achieve  alone.  But  don't  let  us  discuss 
politics.  You  have  the  same  right  to  your  views  that  I 
have  to  mine.  I  will  tell  you  how  much  I  owe  to  your 
father  and  sister,  and  then  you  will  see  that  the  burden  of 
obligation  rests  upon  me;"  and  he  gave  his  own  version  of 
that  memorable  day  whose  consequences  threatened  to  cul 
minate  in  Grace  Holland's  death. 

Under  the  dominion  of  this  thought  he  could  not  hide 
the  anguish  of  his  mind;  and  Rita  had  hinted  enough  in 
her  letters  to  enable  Anderson  to  comprehend  his  new 
found  friend.  He  took  Graham's  hand,  and  as  he  wrung 
it  he  said,  "Yes,  life  has  brought  to  others  heavier  bur 
dens  than  to  me." 

"You  may  have  thought,"  resumed  Graham,  "that  I 
fought  savagely  to-day;  but  I  felt  that  it  is  best  for  all  to 
end  this  useless,  bloody  struggle  as  soon  as  possible.  As 
for  myself,  I'm  just  crazed  with  anxiety  to  get  away  and 
return  home.  Of  course  we  cannot  be  together  after  to 
night,  for  with  the  dawn  I  must  be  in  the  saddle.  To 
night  you  shall  share  my  blankets.  You  must  let  me  treat 
you  as  your  father  and  Rita  treated  me.  I  will  divide  my 


804  EIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

money  with  you:  don't  grieve  me  by  objecting.  Call  it  a 
loan  if  you  will.  Your  currency  is  now  worthless.  You 
must  go  with  the  other  prisoners;  but  I  can  soon  obtain 
your  release  on  parole,  and  then,  in  the  name  of  all  that  is 
sacred,  return  home  to  those  who  idolize  you.  Do  this, 
Colonel  Anderson,  and  you  will  lift  a  heavy  burden  from 
one  already  overweighted. ' ' 

"As  you  put  the  case  I  cannot  do  otherwise,"  was  the 
sad  reply.  "Indeed  I  have  no  heart  for  any  more  useless 
fighting.  My  duty  now  is  clearly  to  my  father  and  sister." 

That  night  the  two  men  slumbered  side  by  side,  and  in 
the  dawn  parted  more  like  brothers  than  like  foes. 

As  Graham  had  predicted,  but  a  brief  time  elapsed  be 
fore  Lee  surrendered,  and  Colonel  Anderson's  liberty  on 
parole  was  soon  secured.  They  parted  with  the  assurance 
that  they  would  meet  again  as  soon  as  circumstances  would 
permit. 

At  the  earliest  hour  in  which  he  could  depart  with  honor, 
Graham's  urgent  entreaty  secured  him  a  leave  of  absence; 
and  he  lost  not  a  moment  in  his  return,  sending  to  his  aunt 
in  advance  a  telegram  to  announce  his  coming. 


HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS  305 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

HIS     SOMBRE     RIVALS 

NEVER  had  his  noble  horse  Mayburn  seemed  to  fail 
him  until  the  hour  that  severed  the  military  chain 
which  had  so  long  bound  him  to  inexorable  duty, 
and  yet  the  faithful  beast  was  carrying  him  like  the  wind. 
Iss,  his  servant,  soon  fell  so  far  behind  that  Graham  paused 
and  told  him  to  come  on  more  leisurely,  that  Mayburn  would 
be  at  the  terminus  of  the  military  railroad.  And  there  Iss 
found  him,  with  drooping  head  and  white  with  foam.  The 
steam-engine  was  driven  to  City  Point  with  the  reckless  speed 
characteristic  of  military  railroads;  but  to  Graham  the  train 
seemed  to  crawl.  He  caught  a  steamer  bound  for  Washing 
ton,  and  paced  the  deck,  while  in  the  moonlight  the  dark 
shores  of  the  James  looked  stationary.  From  Washington 
the  lightning  express  was  in  his  view  more  dilatory  than  the 
most  lumbering  stage  of  the  old  regime. 

When  at  last  he  reached  the  gate  to  his  aunt's  cottage 
and  walked  swiftly  up  the  path,  the  hour  and  the  scene 
were  almost  the  same  as  when  he  had  first  come,  an  indif 
ferent  stranger,  long  years  before.  The  fruit-trees  were  as 
snowy  white  with  blossoms,  the  air  as  fragrant,  the  birds 
singing  as  jubilantly,  as  when  he  had  stood  at  the  window 
and  gazed  with  critical  admiration  on  a  sportive  girl,  a  child- 
woman,  playing  with  her  little  Spitz  dog.  As  he  passed  the 
spot  where  she  had  stood,  beneath  his  ambush  behind  the 
curtains,  his  excited  mind  brought  back  her  image  with  life 
like  realism — the  breeze  in  her  light  hair,  her  dark  eyes 
brimming  with  mirth,  her  bosom  panting  from  her  swift 
advance,  and  the  color  of  the  red  rose  in  her  cheeks. 


806  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

He  groaned  as  he  thought  of  her  now. 

His  aunt  saw  him  from  the  window,  and  a  moment  later 
was  sobbing  on  his  breast. 

"Aunt,"  he  gasped,  "I'm  not  too  late?" 

"Oh,  no,"  she  said,  wearily;  "Grace  is  alive;  but  one 
can  scarcely  say  much  more.  Alford,  you  must  be  prepared 
for  a  sad  change. ' ' 

He  placed  her  in  her  chair,  and  stood  before,  her  with 
heaving  breast.  "Now  tell  me  all,"  he  said,  hoarsely. 

"Oh,  Alford,  you  frighten  me.  You  must  be  more  com 
posed.  You  cannot  see  Grace,  looking  and  feeling  as  you 
do.  She  is  weakness  itself;"  and  she  told  him  how  the  idol 
of  his  heart  was  slowly,  gradually,  but  inevitably  sinking 
into  the  grave. 

"Alford,  Alford,"  she  cried,  entreatingly,  "why  do  you 
look  so  stern?  You  could  not  look  more  terrible  in  the 
most  desperate  battle. ' ' 

In  low,  deep  utterance,  he  said,  "This  is  my  most  des 
perate  battle;  and  in  it  are  the  issues  of  life  and  death." 

"You  terrify  me,  and  can  you  think  that  a  weak,  dying 
woman  can  look  upon  you  as  you  now  appear  ?' ' 

"She  shall  not  die,"  he  continued,  in  the  same  low,  stern 
utterance,  "and  she  must  look  upon  me,  and  listen,  too. 
Aunt,  you  have  been  faithful  to  me  all  these  years.  You 
have  been  my  mother.  I  must  entreat  one  more  service. 
You  must  second  me,  sustain  me,  co-work  with  me.  You 
must  ally  all  your  experienced  womanhood  with  my  man 
hood,  and  with  my  will,  which  may  be  broken,  but  which 
shall  not  yield  to  my  cruel  fate." 

"What  do  you  propose  to  do  ?" 

"That  will  soon  be  manifest.  Go  and  prepare  Grace  for 
my  visit.  I  wish  to  see  her  alone.  You  will  please  be  near, 
however;"  and  he  abruptly  turned  and  went  to  his  room 
to  remove  his  military  suit  and  the  dust  of  travel. 

He  had  given  his  directions  as  if  in  the  field,  and  she  won- 
deringly  and  tremblingly  obeyed,  feeling  that  some  crisis 
was  near. 


HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS  307 

Grace  was  greatly  agitated  when  she  heard  of  Graham's 
arrival ;  and  two  or  three  hours  elapsed  before  she  was  able 
to  be  carried  down  and  placed  on  the  sofa  in  the  library. 
He,  out  in  the  darkness  on  the  piazza,  watched  with  eyes 
that  glowed  like  coals — watched  as  he  had  done  in  the  most 
desperate  emergency  of  all  the  bloody  years  of  battle.  He 
saw  her  again,  and  in  her  wasted,  helpless  form,  her  hollow 
cheeks,  her  bloodless  face,  with  its  weary,  hopeless  look, 
her  mortal  weakness,  he  clearly  recognized  his  sombre  rivals. 
Grief  and  Death;  and  with  a  look  of  indomitable  resolution 
he  raised  his  hand  and  vowed  that  he  would  enter  the  lists 
against  them.  If  it  were  within  the  scope  of  human  will  he 
would  drive  them  from  their  prey. 

His  aunt  met  him  in  the  hall  and  whispered,  "Be  gentle." 

"Kemain  here,"  was  his  low  reply.  "I  have  also  sent  for 
Dr.  Markham;"  and  he  entered. 

Grace  reached  out  to  him  both  her  hands  as  she  said, 
"Oh,  Alford,  you  are  barely  in  time.  It  is  a  comfort  be 
yond  all  words  to  see  you  before — before — "  She  could  not 
finish  the  sinister  sentence. 

He  gravely  and  silently  took  her  hands,  and  sat  down 
beside  her. 

"1  know  I  disappoint  you,"  she  continued.  "I've  heen 
your  evil  genius,  I've  saddened  your  whole  life;  and  you 
have  been  so  true  and  faithful!  Promise  me,  Alford,  that 
after  I'm  gone  you  will  not  let  my  blighted  life  cast  its  shadow 
over  your  future  years.  How  strangely  stern  you  look!" 

"So  you  intend  to  die,  Grace  ?"  were  his  first,  low  words. 

"Intend  to  die?" 

"Yes.  Do  you  think  you  are  doing  right  by  your  father 
in  dying?" 

"Dear,  dear  papa!  I  have  long  ceased  to  be  a  comfort  to 
him.  He,  too,  will  be  better  when  I  am  gone.  I  am  now 
a  hopeless  grief  to  him.  Alford,  dear  Alford,  do  not  look 
at  me  in  that  way." 

"How  else  can  I  look?  Do  you  not  comprehend  what 
your  death  means  to  me,  if  not  to  others  ?'' 


308  HIS   SOMBRE    RIVALS 

"Alford,  can  1  help  it?" 

"Certainly  you  can.  It  will  be  sheer,  downright  selfish 
ness  for  you  to  die.  It  will  be  your  one  unworthy  act. 
You  have  no  disease:  you  have  only  to  comply  with  the 
conditions  of  life  in  order  to  live. ' ' 

"You  are  mistaken,"  she  said,  the  faintest  possible  color 
coming  into  her  face.  "The  bullet  that  caused  Warren's 
death  has  been  equally  fatal  to  me.  Have  I  not  tried  to 
live?" 

"I  do  not  ask  you  to  try  to  live,  but  to  live.  Nay,  more, 
I  demand  it;  and  I  have  the  right.  I  ask  for  nothing  more. 
Although  I  have  loved  you,  idolized  you,  all  these  years, 
I  ask  only  that  you  comply  with  the  conditions  of  life  and 
live." 

The  color  deepened  perceptibly  under  his  emphatic 
words,  and  she  said,  "Can  a  woman  live  whose  heart,  and 
hope,  and  soul,  if  she  has  one,  are  dead  and  buried?" 

"Yes,  as  surely  as  a. man  whose  heart  and  hope  were 
buried  long  years  before.  There  was  a  time  when  I  weakly 
purposed  to  throw  ofi  the  burden  of  life;  but  I  promised  to 
live  and  do  my  best,  and  I  am  here  to-day.  You  must 
make  me  the  same  promise.  In  the  name  of  all  the  past, 
I  demand  it.  Do  you  imaigne  that  I  am  going  to  sit  down 
tamely  and  shed  a  few  helpless  tears  if  you  do  me  this 
immeasurable  wrong  ?" 

"Oh,  Alford!"  she  gasped,  "what  do  you  mean?" 

"I  am  not  here,  Grace,  to  make  threats,"  he  said  gravely; 
"but  I  fear  you  have  made  a  merely  superficial  estimate  of 
my  nature.  Hilland  is  not.  You  know  that  I  would  have 
died  a  hundred  times  in  his  place.  He  committed  you  to 
my  care  with  his  last  breath,  and  that  trust  gave  value 
to  my  life.  What  right  have  you  to  die  and  bring  to  me  the 
blackness  of  despair  ?  I  am  willing  to  bear  my  burden  pa 
tiently  to  the  end.  You  should  be  willing  to  bear  yours." 

"1  admit  your  claim,"  she  cried,  wringing  her  hands. 
"You  have  made  death,  that  I  welcome,  a  terror.  How  can 
I  live  ?  What  is  there  left  of  me  but  a  shadow  ?  What  am 


HIS    SOMBRE    RIVALS  309 

I  but  a  mere  semblance  of  a  woman  ?  The  snow  is  not 
whiter  than  my  hair,  or  colder  than  my  heart.  Oh,  Alford, 
you  have  grown  morbid  in  all  these  years.  You  cannot 
know  what  is  best.  Your  true  chance  is  to  let  me  go.  I 
am  virtually  dead  now,  and  when  my  flickering  breath 
ceases,  the  change  will  be  slight  indeed." 

"It  will  be  a  fatal  change  for  me,"  he  replied,  with  such 
calm  emphasis  that  she  shuddered.  "You  ask  how  you  can 
live.  Again  I  repeat,  by  complying  with  the  conditions  of 
life.  You  have  been  complying  with  the  conditions  of 
death;  and  I  will  not  yield  you  to  him.  Grief  has  been 
a  far  closer  and  more  cherished  friend  than  I;  and  you 
have  permitted  it,  like  a  shadow,  to  stand  between  us. 
The  time  has  now  come  when  you  must  choose  between 
this  fatal  shadow,  this  useless,  selfish  grief,  and  a  loyal 
friend,  who  only  asks  that  he  may  see  you  at  times,  that 
he  may  know  where  to  find  the  one  life  that  is  essential  to 
his  life.  Can  you  not  understand  from  your  own  experi 
ence  that  a  word  from  you  is  sweeter  to  me  than  all  the 
music  of  the  world  ? — that  smiles  from  you  will  give  me 
courage  to  fight  the  battle  of  life  to  the  last  ?  Had  Hilland 
come  back  wounded,  would  you  have  listened  if  he  had  rea 
soned,  'I  am  weak  and  maimed — not  like  my  old  self:  you 
will  be  better  off  without  me'  ?" 

"Say  no  more,"  she  faltered.  "If  a  shadow  can  live, 
I  will.  If  a  poor,  heartless,  hopeless  creature  can  continue 
to  breathe,  I  will.  If  I  die,  as  I  believe  I  must,  I  will  die 
doing  just  what  you  ask.  If  it  is  possible  for  me  to  live,  I 
shall  disappoint  you  more  bitterly  than  ever.  Alford,  be 
lieve  me,  the  woman  is  dead  within  me.  If  I  live  I  shall 
become  I  know  not  what — a  sort  of  unnatural  creature,  hav 
ing  little  more  than  physical  life." 

"Grace,  our  mutual  belief  forbids  such  a  thought.  If 
a  plant  is  deeply  shadowed,  and  moisture  is  withdrawn,  it 
begins  to  die.  Bring  to  it  again  light  and  moisture,  the 
conditions  of  its  life,  and  it  gradually  revives  and  resumes 
its  normal  state.  This  principle  applies  equally  to  you  in 


310  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

your  higher  order  of  existence.  Will  you  promise  me  that, 
at  the  utmost  exertion  of  your  will  and  intelligence,  you 
will  try  to  live?" 

"Yes,  Alford;  but  again  I  warn  you.  You  will  be  dis 
appointed.  ' ' 

He  kissed  both  her  hands  with  a  manner  that  evinced 
profound  gratitude  and  respect,  but  nothing  more;  and  then 
summoned  his  aunt  and  Dr.  Markham. 

Grace  lay  back  on  the  sofa,  white  and  faint,  with  closed 
eyes. 

"Oh,  Alford,  what  have  you  done?"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Mayburn. 

"What  is  right  and  rational.  Dr.  Markham,  Mrs.  Hilland 
has  promised  to  use  the  utmost  exertion  of  her  will  and  in 
telligence  to  live.  I  ask  that  you  and  my  aunt  employ  your 
utmost  skill  and  intelligence  in  co-operation  with  her  effort. 
We  here — all  four  of  us — enter  upon  a  battle;  and,  like  all 
battles,  it  should  be  fought  with  skill  and  indomitable  cour 
age,  not  sentimental  impulse.  I  know  that  Mrs.  Hilland 
will  honestly  make  the  effort,  for  she  is  one  to  keep  her 
word.  Am  I  not  right,  Grace?" 

"Yes,"  was  the  faint  reply. 

"Why,  now  I  can  go  to  work  with  hope,"  said  the  phy 
sician  briskly,  as  he  gave  his  patient  a  little  stimulant. 

"And  I  also,"  cried  the  old  lady,  tears  streaming  down 
her  face.  "Oh,  darling  Grace,  you  will  live  and  keep  all 
our  hearts  from  breaking. ' ' 

"I'll  try,"  she  said,  in  almost  mortal  weariness. 

When  she  had  been  revived  somewhat  by  his  restoratives, 
Dr.  Markham  said,  "I  now  advise  that  she  be  carried  back 
to  her  room,  and  I  promise  to  be  unwearied  in  my  care." 

"No,"  said  Graham  to  his  aunt.  "Do  not  call  the  ser 
vants;  I  shall  carry  her  to  her  room  myself;"  and  he  lifted 
her  as  gently  as  he  would  take  up  a  child,  and  bore  her 
strongly  and  easily  to  her  room. 

"Poor,  poor  Alford!"  she  whispered — "wasting  your 
rich,  full  heart  on  a  shadow." 


ALL    MATERIALISTS  311 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

ALL     MATERIALISTS 

WHEN  Graham  returned  to  the  library  he  found  that 
the  major  had  tottered  in,  and  was  awaiting  him 
with  a  look  of  intense  anxiety. 

"Graham,  Graham!"  he  cried,  "do  you  think  there  is 
any  hope  ?' ' 

"I  do,  sir.  I  think  there  is  almost  a  certainty  that  your 
daughter  will  live." 

"Now  God  be  praised!  although  I  have  little  right  to 
say  it,  for  I've  put  His  name  to  a  bad  use  all  my  life." 

"I  don't  think  any  harm  has  been  done,"  said  Graham, 
smiling. 

"Oh,  I  know,  I  know  how  wise  you  German  students 
are.  You  can't  find  God  with  a  microscope  or  a  telescope, 
and  therefore  there  is  none.  But  I'm  the  last  man  to  criti 
cise.  Grace  has  been  my  divinity  since  her  mother  died; 
and  if  you  can  give  a  reasonable  hope  that  she'll  live  to 
close  my  eyes,  I'll  thank  the  God  that  my  wife  worshipped, 
in  spite  of  all  your  new-fangled  philosophies." 

"And  I  hope  I  shall  never  be  so  wanting  in  courtesy, 
to  say  the  least,  as  to  show  anything  but  respect  for  your 
convictions.  You  shall  know  the  whole  truth  about  Grace; 
and  I  shall  look  to  you  also  for  aid  in  a  combined  effort  to 
rally  and  strengthen  her  forces  of  life.  You  know,  Major, 
that  I  have  seen  some  service." 

"Yes,  yes;  boy  that  you  are,  you  are  a  hundred-fold  more 
of  a  veteran  than  I  am.  At  the  beginning  of  the  war  I  felt 
very  superior  and  experienced.  But  the  war  that  I  saw  was 
mere  child's-play." 


812  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

"Well,  sir,  the  war  that  I've  been  through  was  child's 
play  to  me  compared  with  the  battle  begun  to-night.  I 
never  feared  death,  except  as  it  might  bring  trouble  to 
others,  and  for  long  years  I  coveted  it;  but  1  fear  the  death 
of  Grace  Hi  Hand  beyond  anything  in  this  world  or  any 
other.  As  her  father,  you  now  shall  learn  the  whole 
truth;"  and  he  told  his  story  from  the  evening  of  their 
first  game  of  whist  together. 

"Strange,  strange!"  muttered  the  old  man.  "It's  the 
story  of  Philip  Harkness  over  again.  But,  by  the  God  who 
made  me,  she  shall  reward  you  if  she  lives." 

"No,  Major  St.  John,  no.  She  shall  devote  herself  to 
you,  and  live  the  life  that  her  own  feelings  dictate.  She 
understands  this,  and  I  will  it.  I  assure  you  that  whatever 
else  I  lack  it's  not  a  will." 

"You've  proved  that,  Graham,  if  ever  a  man  did.  Well, 
well,  well,  your  coming  has  brought  a  strange  and  most 
welcome  state  of  affairs.  Somehow  you've  given  me  a  new 
lease  of  life  and  courage.  Of  late  we've  all  felt  like  haul 
ing  down  the  flag,  and  letting  grim  death  do  his  worst. 
I  couldn't  have  survived  Grace,  and  didn't  want  to.  Only 
plucky  Mrs.  Mayburn  held  on  to  your  coming  as  a  forlorn 
hope.  You  now  make  me  feel  like  nailing  the  flag  to  the 
staff,  and  opening  again  with  every  gun.  Grace  is  like  her 
mother,  if  I  do  say  it.  Grace  Brentford  never  lacked  for 
suitors,  and  she  had  the  faculty  of  waking  up  men.  Forgive 
an  old  man's  vanity.  Phil  Harkness  was  a  little  wild  as  a 
young  fellow,  but  he  had  grand  mettle  in  him.  He  made 
more  of  a  figure  in  the  world  than  I — was  sent  to  Congress, 
owned  a  big  plantation,  and  all  that — but  sweet  Grace 
Brentford  always  looked  at  me  reproachfully  when  I  rallied 
her  on  the  mistake  she  had  made,  and  was  contentment 
itself  in  my  rough  soldier's  quarters,"  and  the  old  man  took 
off  his  spectacles  to  wipe  his  tear-dimmed  eyes.  "Grace  is. 
just  like  her.  She,  too,  has  waked  up  men.  Hilland  was 
a  grand  fellow;  and,  Graham,  you  are  a  soldier  every  inch 
of  you,  and  that's  the  highest  praise  I  can  bestow.  You 


ALL    MATERIALISTS  313 

are   in  command  in   this    battle,   and  God   be  with  you. 
Your  unbelief  doesn't  affect  Him  any  more  than  a  mole's." 

Graham  laughed — he  could  laugh  in  his  present  hope 
fulness — as  he  replied,  "I  agree  with  you  fully.  If  there  is 
a  personal  Creator  of  the  universe,  I  certainly  am  a  small 
object  in  it." 

"That's  not  what  I've  been  taught  to  believe  either;  nor 
is  it  according  to  my  reason.  An  infinite  God  could  give  as 
much  attention  to  you  as  to  the  solar  system." 

"From  the  present  aspect  of  the  world,  a  great  deal  would 
appear  neglected,"  Graham  replied,  with  a  shrug. 

"Come,  Colonel  Graham,"  said  the  major,  a  little  sharply, 
uyou  and  I  have  both  heard  the  rank  and  file  grumble  over 
the  tactics  of  their  general.  It  often  turned  out  that  the 
general  knew  more  than  the  men.  But  it's  nice  business 
for  me  to  be  talking  religion  to  you  or  any  one  else;"  and 
the  idea  struck  him  as  so  comical  that  he  laughed  outright. 

Mrs.  May  burn,  who  entered  at  that  moment,  said: 
"That's  a  welcome  sound.  I  can't  remember,  Major,  when 
I've  heard  you  laugh.  Alford,  you  are  a  magician.  Grace 
is  sleeping  quietly. ' ' 

"Little  wonder!  What  have  I  had  to  laugh  about?" 
said  the  major.  "But  melancholy  itself  would  laugh  at  my 
joke  to-night.  Would  you  believe  it,  I've  been  talking 
religion  to  the  colonel, if  1  haven't!" 

"I  think  it's  time  religion  was  talked  to  all  of  us." 

"Oh,  now,  Mrs.  May  burn,  don't  you  begin.  You  haven't 
any  God  any  more  than  Graham  has.  You  have  a  jumble 
of  old-fashioned  theological  attributes,  that  are  of  no  more 
practical  use  to  you  than  the  doctrines  of  Aristotle.  Please 
ring  for  Jinny,  and  tell  her  to  bring  us  a  bottle  of  wine  and 
some  cake.  I  want  to  drink  to  Grace's  health.  If  I  could 
see  her  smile  again  I'd  fire  a  feu  dejoie  if  I  could  find  any 
ordnance  larger  than  a  popgun.  Don't  laugh  at  me,  friends," 
he  added,  wiping  the  tears  from  his  dim  old  eyes;  "but  the 
bare  thought  that  Grace  will  live  to  bless  my  last  few  days 
almost  turns  my  head.  Where  is  Dr.  Markham?" 
N— ROE— XIII 


314  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

"He  had  other  patients  to  see,  and  said  he  would  return 
by  and  by,"  Mrs.  May  burn  replied. 

"It's  time  we  had  a  little  relief,"  she  continued,  "what 
ever  the  future  may  be.  The  slow,  steady  pressure  of  anx 
iety  and  fear  was  becoming  unendurable.  I  could  scarcely 
have  suffered  more  if  Grace  had  been  my  own  child;  and 
I  feared  for  you,  Alford,  quite  as  much." 

"And  with  good  reason,"  he  said,  quietly. 

She  gave  him  a  keen  look,  and  then  did  as  the  major 
had  requested. 

"Come,  friends,"  cried  he,  "let  us  give  up  this  evening 
to  hope  and  cheer.  Let  what  will  come  on  the  morrow, 
we'll  have  at  least  one  more  gleam  of  wintry  sunshine 
to-day." 

Filling  the  glasses  of  all  with  his  trembling  hand,  he 
added,  when  they  were  alone:  "Here's  to  my  darling's 
health.  May  the  good  God  spare  her,  and  spare  us  all,  to 
see  brighter  days.  Because  I'm  not  good,  is  no  reason  why 
He  isn't." 

"Amen!"  cried  the  old  lady,  with  Methodistic  fervor. 

"What  are  you  saying  amen  to? — that  I'm  not  good?" 

"Oh,  I  imagine  we  all  average  about  alike,"  was  her 
grim  reply — "the  more  shame  to  us  all!" 

"Dear,  conscience-stricken  old  aunty!"  said  Graham, 
smiling  at  her.  "Will  nothing  ever  lay  your  theological 
ghosts  ?' ' 

"No,  Alford,"  she  said,  gravely.  "Let  us  change  the 
subject. ' ' 

"I've  told  Major  St.  John  everything  from  the  day  I  first 
came  here,"  Graham  explained;  "and  now  before  we  sep 
arate  let  it  be  understood  that  he  joins  us  as  a  powerful 
ally.  His  influence  over  Grace,  after  all,  is  more  potent 
than  that  of  all  the  rest  of  us  united.  My  words  to-night 
have  acted  more  like  a  shock  than  anything  else.  I  have 
placed  before  her  clearly  and  sharply  the  consequences  of 
yielding  passively,  and  of  drifting  further  toward  darkness. 
We  must  possess  ourselves  with  an  almost  infinite  patience 


ALL    MATERIALISTS  315 

and  vigilance.  She,  after  all,  must  bear  the  brunt  of  this 
fight  with  death;  but  we  must  be  ever  on  hand  to  give  her 
support,  and  it  must  be  given  also  unobtrusively,  with  all 
the  tact  we  possess.  We  can  let  her  see  that  we  are  more 
cheerful  in  our  renewed  hope,  but  we  must  be  profoundly 
sympathetic  and  considerate." 

"Well,  Graham,  as  I  said  before,  you  are  captain.  I 
learned  to  obey  orders  long  ago  as  well  as  to  give  them;" 
and  the  major  summoned  his  valet  and  bade  them  good 
night. 

Graham,  weary  in  the  reaction  from  his  intense  feeling 
and  excitement,  threw  himself  on  the  sofa,  and  his  aunt 
came  and  sat  beside  him. 

"Alford,"  she  said,  "what  an  immense  change  your 
coming  has  made!" 

"The  beginning  of  a  change,  I  hope." 

"It  was  time — it  was  time.  A  drearier  household  could 
scarcely  be  imagined.  Oh,  how  dreary  life  can  become! 
Grace  was  dying.  Every  day  I  expected  tidings  of  your 
death.  It's  a  miracle  that  you  are  alive  after  all  these 
bloody  years.  All  zest  in  living  had  departed  from  the 
major.  We  are  all  materialists,  after  our  own  fashion, 
wholly  dependent  on  earthly  things,  and  earthly  things 
were  failing  us.  In  losing  Grace,  you  and  the  major  would 
have  lost  everything;  so  would  I  in  losing  you.  Alford, 
you  have  become  a  son  to  me.  Would  you  break  a  mother's 
heart  ?  Can  you  not  still  promise  to  live  and  do  your  best  ?' ' 

"Dear  aunt,  we  shall  all  live  and  do  our  best." 

"Is  that  the  best  you  can  say,  Alford  ?" 

"Aunty,  there  are  limitations  to  the  strength  of  every 
man.  I  have  reached  the  boundary  of  mine.  From  the 
time  I  began  the  struggle  in  the  Vermont  woods,  and  all 
through  my  exile,  I  fought  this  passion.  I  hesitated  at  no 
danger,  and  the  wilder  and  more  desolate  the  region,  the 
greater  were  its  attractions  to  me.  I  sought  to  occupy  my 
mind  with  all  that  was  new  and  strange;  but  such  was 
my  nature  that  this  love  became  an  inseparable  part  of  my 


316  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

being.  I  might  just  as  well  have  said  I  would  forget  my  sad 
childhood,  the  studies  that  have  interested  me,  your  kind 
ness.  I  might  as  well  have  decreed  that  I  should  not  look 
the  same  and  be  the  same — that  all  my  habits  of  thought 
and  traits  of  character  should  not  be  my  own.  Imagine 
that  a  tree  in  your  garden  had  will  and  intelligence.  Could 
it  ignore  the  law  of  its  being,  all  the  long  years  which  had 
made  it  what  it  is,  and  decide  to  be  some  other  kind  of 
tree,  totally  different?  A  man  who  from  childhood  has 
had  many  interests,  many  affections,  loses,  no  doubt,  a  sort 
of  concentration  when  the  one  supreme  love  of  his  life  takes 
possession  of  him.  If  Grace  lives,  and  I  can  see  that  she 
has  at  last  tranquilly  and  patiently  accepted  her  lot,  you 
will  find  that  I  can  be  tranquil  and  patient.  If  she  dies,  I 
feel  that  I  shall  break  utterly.  I  can't  look  into  the  abyss 
that  her  grave  would  open.  Do  not  think  that  I  would  con 
sciously  and  deliberately  become  a  vulgar  suicide — I  hope 
I  long  since  passed  that  point,  and  love  and  respect  for  you 
forbid  the  thought — but  the  long  strain  that  I  have  been 
under,  and  the  dominating  influence  of  my  life,  would  cul 
minate.  I  should  give  way  like  a  man  before  a  cold,  deadly 
avalanche.  I  have  been  frank  with  you,  for  in  my  profound 
gratitude  for  your  love  and  kindness  I  would  not  have  you 
misunderstand  me,  or  think  for  a  moment  that  I  proposed 
deliberately  to  forget  you  in  my  own  trouble.  The  truth 
is  just  this,  aunt:  I  have  not  strength  enough  to  endure 
Grace  Hilland's  death.  It  would  be  such  a  lame,  dreary, 
impotent  conclusion  that  I  should  sink  under  it,  as  truly 
as  a  man  who  found  himself  in  the  sea  weighted  by  a  ton 
of  lead.  But  don't  let  us  dwell  on  this  thought.  I  truly 
believe  that  Grace  will  live,  if  we  give  her  all  the  aid  she 
requires.  If  she  honestly  makes  the  effort  to  live — as 
she  will,  I  feel  sure — she  can  scarcely  help  living  when 
the  conditions  of  life  are  supplied." 

"I  think  I  understand  you,  Alford,"  said  the  old  lady, 
musingly;  "and  yet  your  attitude  seems  a  strange  one." 

"It's  not  an  unnatural  one.     I  am  what  I  have  been 


ALL    MATERIALISTS  317 

growing  to  be  all  these  years.      I  can  trace  the  sequence  of 
cause  and  effect  until  this  moment." 

"Well,  then,"  said  the  old  lady,  grimly,  "Grace  must 
live,  if  it  be  in  the  power  of  human  will  and  effort  to  save 
her.  Would  that  I  had  the  faith  in  God  that  I  ought  to 
have !  But  He  is  afar  off,  and  He  acts  in  accordance  with 
an  infinite  wisdom  that  I  can't  understand.  The  happiness 
of  His  creatures  seems  a  very  secondary  affair. ' ' 

"Now,  aunty,  we  are  on  ground  where  we  differ  theo 
retically,  to  say  the  least;  but  I  accord  to  you  full  right  to 
think  what  you  please,  because  I  know  you  will  employ  all 
the  natural  and  rational  expedients  of  a  skilful  nurse." 

"Yes,  Alford;  you  and  Grace  only  make  me  unhappy 
when  you  talk  in  that  way.  I  know  you  are  wrong,  just  as 
certainly  as  the  people  who  believed  the  sun  moved  round 
the  earth.  The  trouble  is  that  I  know  it  only  with  the  same 
cold  mental  conviction,  and  therefore  can  be  of  no  help  to 
either  of  you.  Pardon  me  for  my  bluntness:  do  you  expect 
to  marry  Grace,  should  she  become  strong  and  well  ?' ' 

"No,  I  can  scarcely  say  I  have  any  such  hope.  It  is 
a  thought  I  do  not  even  entertain  at  present,  nor  does  she. 
I  am  content  to  be  her  friend  through  life,  and  am  con 
vinced  that  she  could  not  think  of  marriage  again  for  years, 
if  ever.  That  is  a  matter  of  secondary  importance.  All 
that  I  ask  is  that  she  shall  live." 

"Well,  compared  with  most  men,  a  very  little  contents 
you,"  said  his  aunt  dryly.  "We  shall  see,  we  shall  see. 
But  you  have  given  me  such  an  incentive  that,  were  it  pos 
sible,  I'd  open  my  withered  veins  and  give  her  havf  of  my 
poor  blood." 

"Dear  aunty,  how  true  and  stanch  your  love  is!  I  can 
not  believe  it  will  be  disappointed." 

"I  must  go  back  to  my  post  now,  nor  shall  I  leave  it 
very  often." 

"Here  is  Dr.  Markham.  He  will  see  that  you  have  it 
often  enough  to  maintain  your  own  health,  and  I  will  too. 
I've  been  a  soldier  too  long  to  permit  my  chief  of  staff  to 


318  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

be  disabled.  Pardon  me,  doctor,  but  it  seems  to  me  that 
this  is  more  of  a  case  for  nursing  and  nourishment  than 
for  drugs. ' ' 

"You  are  right,  and  yet  a  drug  can  also  become  a  useful 
ally.  In  my  opinion,  it  is  more  a  case  for  change  than  any 
thing  else.  When  Mrs.  Hilland  is  strong  enough,  you  must 
take  her  from  this  atmosphere  and  these  associations.  In 
a  certain  sense  she  must  begin  life  over  again,  and  take 
root  elsewhere." 

"There  may  be  truth  in  what  you  say;"  and  Graham 
was  merged  in  deep  thought  when  he  was  left  alone.  The 
doctor,  in  passing  out  a  few  moments  later,  assured  him 
that  all  promised  well. 


THE   EFFORT    TO    LIVE  319 


CHAPTER   XXXVII 

THE     EFFORT    TO     LIVE 

AS  Graham  had  said,  it  did  seem  that  infinite  patience 
and  courage  would  be  required  to  defeat  the  dark 
adversaries  now  threatening  the  life  upon  which  he 
felt  that  his  own  depended.  He  had  full  assurance  that 
Grace  made  her  promised  effort,  but  it  was  little  more  than 
an  effort  of  will,  dictated  by  a  sense  of  duty.  She  had  lost  her 
hold  on  life,  which  to  her  enfeebled  mind  and  body  prom 
ised  little  beyond  renewed  weariness  and  disappointment. 
How  she  could  live  again  in  any  proper  sense  of  the  word 
was  beyond  her  comprehension;  and  what  was  bare  exist 
ence?  It  would  be  burdensome  to  herself  and  become 
wearisome  to  others.  The  mind  acts  through  its  own  nat 
ural  medium,  and  all  the  light  that  came  to  her  was  colored 
by  almost  despairing  memories. 

Too  little  allowance  is  often  made  for  those  in  her  con 
dition.  The  strong  man  smiles  half  contemptuously  at  the 
efforts  of  one  who  is  feeble  to  lift  a  trifling  weight.  Still, 
he  is  charitable.  He  knows  that  if  the  man  has  not  the 
muscle,  all  is  explained.  So  material  are  the  conceptions 
of  many  that  they  have  no  patience  with  those  who  have 
been  enfeebled  in  mind,  will,  and  courage.  Such  persons 
would  say,  "Of  course  Mrs.  Hilland  cannot  attend  to  her 
household  as  before;  but  she  ought  to  have  faith,  resigna 
tion;  she  ought  to  make  up  her  mind  cheerfully  to  submit, 
and  she  would  soon  be  well.  Great  heavens!  haven't  other 
women  lost  their  husbands  ?  Yes,  indeed,  and  they  worried 
along  quite  comfortably." 


320  HIS    SOMBRE    RIVALS 

Graham  took  no  such  superficial  view.  "Other  women" 
were  not  Grace.  He  was  philosophical,  and  tried  to  esti 
mate  the  effect  of  her  own  peculiar  experience  on  her  own 
nature,  and  was  not  guilty  of  the  absurdity  of  generalizing. 
It  was  his  problem  to  save  Grace  as  she  was,  and  not  as 
some  good  people  said  she  ought  to  be.  Still,  his  firm  be 
lief  remained,  that  she  could  live  if  she  would  comply  with 
what  he  believed  to  be  the  conditions  of  life;  indeed,  that 
she  could  scarcely  help  living.  If  the  time  could  come 
when  her  brain  would  be  nourished  by  an  abundance  of 
healthful  blood,  he  might  hope  for  almost  anything.  She 
would  then  be  able  to  view  the  past  dispassionately,  to  rec 
ognize  that  what  was  past  was  gone  forever,  and  to  see  the 
folly  of  a  grief  which  wasted  the  present  and  the  future.  If 
she  never  became  strong  enough  for  that — and  the  prospect 
was  only  a  faint,  half-acknowledged  hope — then  he  would 
reverently  worship  a  patient,  gentle,  white-haired  woman, 
who  should  choose  her  own  secluded  path,  he  being  content 
to  make  it  as  smooth  and  thornless  as  possible. 

Beyond  a  brief  absence  at  the  time  his  regiment  was  mus 
tered  out  of  the  service,  he  was  always  at  home,  and  the  al 
lies  against  death — with  their  several  hopes,  wishes,  and 
interests— worked  faithfully.  At  last  there  was  a  more  de 
cided  response  in  the  patient.  Her  sleep  became  prolonged, 
as  if  she  were  making  amends  for  the  weariness  of  years. 
Skilful  tonic  treatment  told  on  the  wasted  form.  New 
blood  was  made,  and  that,  in  Graham's  creed,  was  new  life. 

His  materialistic  theory,  however,  was  far  removed  from 
any  gross  conception  of  the  problem.  He  did  not  propose 
to  feed  a  woman  into  a  new  and  healthful  existence,  except 
as  he  fed  what  he  deemed  to  be  her  whole  nature.  In  his 
idea,  flowers,  beauty  in  as  many  forms  as  he  could  com 
mand  and  she  enjoy  at  the  time,  were  essential.  He  ran 
sacked  nature  in  his  walks  for  things  to  interest  her.  He 
brought  her  out  into  the  sunshine,  and  taught  her  to  dis 
tinguish  the  different  birds  by  their  notes.  He  had  Mrs. 
Mayburn  talk  to  her  and  consult  with  her  over  the  homely 


THE   EFFORT   TO    LIVE  321 

and  wholesome  details  of  housekeeping.  Much  of  the  news 
of  the  day  was  brought  to  her  attention  as  that  which  should 
naturally  interest  her,  especially  the  reconstruction  of  the 
South,  as  represented  and  made  definite  by  the  experience 
of  Henry  Anderson  and  his  sister.  He  told  her  that  he 
had  bought  at  a  nominal  sum  a  large  plantation  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  parsonage,  and  that  Colonel  Anderson 
should  be  his  agent,  with  the  privilege  of  buying  at  no 
more  of  an  advance  than  would  satisfy  the  proud  young 
Southerner's  self  respect. 

Thus  from  every  side  he  sought  to  bring  natural  and 
healthful  influences  to  bear  upon  her  mind,  to  interest  her 
in  life  at  every  point  where  it  touched  her,  and  to  reconnect 
the  broken  threads  which  had  bound  her  to  the  world. 

He  was  aided  earnestly  and  skilfully  on  all  sides.  Their 
success,  however,  was  discouragingly  slow.  In  her  weak 
ness  Grace  made  pathetic  attempts  to  respond,  but  not  from 
much  genuine  interest.  As  she  grew  stronger  her  manner 
toward  her  father  was  more  like  that  of  her  former  self  than 
was  the  rest  of  her  conduct.  Almost  as  if  from  the  force  of 
habit,  she  resumed  her  thoughtful  care  for  his  comfort;  but 
beyond  that  there  seemed  to  be  an  apathy,  an  indifference, 
a  dreary  preoccupation  hard  to  combat. 

In  Graham's  presence  she  would  make  visible  effort  to 
do  all  he  wished,  but  it  was  painfully  visible,  and  some 
times  she  would  recognize  his  unobtrusive  attentions  with 
a  smile  that  was  sadder  than  any  words  could  be.  One  day 
she  seemed  almost  wholly  free  from  the  deep  apathy  that 
was  becoming  characteristic,  and  she  said  to  him,  "Alas, 
my  friend!  as  I  said  to  you  at  first,  the  woman  is  dead 
within  me.  My  body  grows  stronger,  as  the  result  of  the 
skill  and  help  you  all  are  bringing  to  bear  on  my  sad  prob 
lem,  but  my  heart  is  dead,  and  my  hope  takes  no  hold  on 
life.  I  cannot  overcome  the  feeling  that  I  am  a  mere 
shadow,  and  have  no  right  to  be  here  among  the  living. 
You  are  so  brave,  patient,  and  faithful  that  I  am  ever  con 
scious  of  a  sort  of  dull  remorse;  but  there  is  a  weight  on 


522  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

my  brain  and  a  despairing  numbness  at  my  heart,  making 
everything  seem  vain  and  unreal.  Please  do  not  blame 
me.  Asking  me  to  feel  is  like  requiring  sight  of  the  blind. 
I've  lost  the  faculty.  I  have  suffered  so  much  that  I  have 
become  numb,  if  not  dead.  The  shadows  of  the  past  mingle 
with  the  shadows  of  to-day.  Only  you  seem  real  in  you-r 
strong,  vain  effort,  and  as  far  as  I  can  suffer  any  more  it 
pains  me  to  see  you  thus  waste  yourself  on  a  hopeless 
shadow  of  a  woman.  I  told  you  I  should  disappoint  you." 

"I  am  not  wasting  myself,  Grace.  Eemain  a  shadow 
till  you  can  be  more.  I  will  bear  my  part  of  the  burden, 
if  you  will  be  patient  with  yours.  Won't  you  believe  that 
I  am  infinitely  happier  in  caring  for  you  as  you  are  than  I 
should  be  if  I  could  not  thus  take  your  hand  and  express 
to  you  my  thought,  my  sympathy  ?  Dear  Grace,  the  causes 
which  led  to  your  depression  were  strong  and  terrible. 
Should  we  expect  them  to  be  counteracted  in  a  few  short 
weeks?" 

"Alas,  Alford!  is  there  any  adequate  remedy?  For 
give  me  for  saying  this  to  you,  and  yet  you,  of  all  people, 
can  understand  me  best.  You  cling  to  me  who  should  be 
nothing  to  a  man  of  your  power  and  force.  You  say  you 
cannot  go  on  in  life  without  me,  even  as  a  weak,  dependent 
friend — that  you  would  lose  all  zest,  incentive,  and  interest; 
for  I  cannot  think  you  mean  more.  If  you  feel  in  this  way 
toward  me,  who  in  the  eyes  of  other  men  would  be  a  dismal 
burden,  think  how  Warren  dwells  in  my  memory,  what  he 
was  to  me,  how  his  strong  sunny  nature  was  the  sun  of  my 
life.  Do  you  not  see  you  are  asking  of  me  what  you  say 
you  could  not  do  yourself,  although  you  would,  after  your 
own  brave,  manly  fashion  ?  But  your  own  belief  should 
teach  you  the  nature  of  my  task  when  you  ask  me  to  go  on 
and  take  up  life  again,  from  which  I  was  torn  more  com 
pletely  than  the  vine  which  falls  with  the  tree  to  which  it 
clung." 

"Dear  Grace,  do  not  think  for  a  moment  that  1  am  not 
always  gratefully  conscious  of  the  immense  self-sacrifice 


THE   EFFORT   TO    LIVE  323 

you  are  making  for  me  and  others.  You  long  for  rest  and 
forgetfulness,  and  yet  you  know  well  that  your  absence 
would  leave  an  abyss  of  despair.  You  now  add  so  much 
to  the  comfort  of  your  father!  Mrs.  May  burn  clings  to 
you  with  all  the  love  of  a  mother.  And  I,  Grace — what 
else  can  1  do  ?  Even  your  frail,  sad  presence  is  more  to 
me  than  the  sun  in  the  sky.  Is  it  pure  selfishness  on  my 
part  to  wish  to  keep  you  ?  Time,  the  healer,  will  gradu 
ally  bring  to  you  rest  from  pain,  and  serenity  to  us  all. 
When  you  are  stronger  I  will  take  you  to  Hilland's  grave — " 
".No,  no,  no!"  she  cried,  almost  passionately.  "Why 
should  I  go  there?  Oh,  this  is  the  awful  part  of  it!  What 
I  so  loved  has  become  nothing,  worse  than  nothing — that 
from  which  I  shrink  as  something  horrible.  Oh,  Alford! 
why  are  we  endowed  with  such  natures  if  corruption  is  to 
be  the  end  ?  It  is  this  thought  that  paralyzes  me.  It  seems 
as  if  pure,  unselfish  love  is  singled  out  for  the  most  diabol 
ical  punishment.  To  think  that  a  form  which  has  become 
sacred  to  you  may  be  put  away  at  any  moment  as  a  horrible 
and  unsightly  thing !  and  that  such  should  be  the  end  of  the 
noblest  devotion  of  which  man  is  capable !  My  whole  being 
revolts  at  it;  and  yet  how  can  I  escape  from  its  truth?  I 
am  beset  by  despairing  thoughts  on  every  side  when  able  to 
think  at  all,  and  my  best  remedy  seems  a  sort  of  dreary 
apathy,  in  which  1  do  little  more  than  breathe.  I  have 
read  that  there  comes  a  time  when  the  tortured  cease  to 
feel  much  pain.  There  was  a  time,  especially  at  the  hos 
pital,  when  I  suffered  constantly — when  almost  everything 
but  you  suggested  torturing  thoughts.  I  suffered  with  you 
and  for  you,  but  there  was  always  something  sustaining  in 
your  presence.  There  is  still.  I  should  not  live  a  month 
in  your  absence,  but  it  seems  as  if  it  were  your  strong  will 
that  holds  me,  not  my  own.  You  have  given  me  the  power, 
the  incentive,  to  make  such  poor  effort  as  I  am  putting  forth. 
Moreover,  in  intent,  you  gave  your  life  for  Warren  again  and 
again,  and  as  long  as  I  have  any  volition  left  I  will  try  and 
do  all  you  wish,  since  you  so  wish  it.  But  my  hope  is  dead. 


324  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

I  do  not  see  how  any  more  good  can  come  to  me  or  through 
me." 

"You  are  still  willing,  however,  to  permit  me  to  think 
for  you,  to  guide  you  ?  You  will  still  use  your  utmost  ef 
fort  to  live?" 

"Yes.  I  can  refuse  to  the  man  who  went  back  to  my 
dying  husband  nothing  within  my  power  to  grant.  It  is 
indeed  little.  Besides,  I  am  in  your  care,  but  I  fear  I  shall 
prove  a  sad,  if  not  a  fatal  legacy." 

"Of  that,  dear  Grace,  you  must  permit  me  to  be  the 
judge.  All  that  you  have  said  only  adds  strength  to  my 
purpose.  Does  not  the  thought  that  you  are  doing  so  very 
much  for  me  and  for  all  who  love  you  bring  some  solace  ?" 

"It  should.  But  what  have  I  brought  you  but  pain  and 
deep  anxiety?  Oh,  Alford,  Alford!  you  will  waken  some 
bitter  day  to  the  truth  that  you  love  but  the  wraith  of  the 
girl  who  unconsciously  won  your  heart.  You  have  ideal 
ized  her,  and  the  being  you  now  love  does  not  exist  How 
can  I  let  you  go  on  thus  wronging  yourself?" 

"Grace,"  replied  he,  gravely  and  almost  sternly,  "I 
learned  in  the  northern  woods,  among  the  fiords  of  Nor 
way,  under  the  shadow  of  the  Himalayas,  and  in  my  long, 
lonely  hours  in  the  war,  whom  I  loved,  and  why  I  loved 
her.  I  made  every  effort  at  forgetfulness  that  I,  at  least, 
was  capable  of  exerting,  and  never  forgot  for  an  hour. 
Am  I  a  sentimental  boy,  that  you  should  talk  to  me  in 
this  way  ?  Let  us  leave  that  question  as  settled  for  all 
time.  Moreover,  never  entertain  the  thought  that  I  am 
planning  and  hoping  for  the  future.  I  see  in  your  affec 
tion  for  me  only  a  pale  reflection  of  your  love  for  Hilland. ' ' 

"No,  Alford,  I  love  you  for  your  own  sake.  How  ten 
derly  you  have  ever  spoken  of  little  Eita  Anderson,  and 

yet-" 

"And  yet,  as  I  have  told  you  more  than  once,  the 
thought  of  loving  her  never  entered  my  mind.  I  could 
plan  for  her  happiness  as  I  would  for  a  sister,  had  I  one. ' ' 

"Therefore  you  can  interpret  me." 


THE   EFFORT   TO    LIVE  325 

"Therefore  I  have  interpreted  you,  and,  from  the  first, 
have  asked  for  nothing  more  than  that  you  still  make  one 
of  our  little  circle,  each  member  of  which  would  be  sadly 
missed,  you  most  of  all." 

"I  ought  to  be  able  to  do  so  little  as  that  for  you.  In 
deed,  I  am  trying. ' ' 

"I  know  you  are,  and,  as  you  succeed,  you  will  see  that 
I  am  content.  Do  not  feel  that  when  I  am  present  you 
must  struggle  and  make  unwonted  effort.  The  tide  is  set 
ting  toward  life;  float  gently  on  with  it.  Do  not  try  to 
force  nature.  Let  time  and  rest  daily  bring  their  imper 
ceptible  healing.  The  war  is  over.  I  now  have  but  one 
object  in  life,  and  if  you  improve  I  shall  come  and  go  and 
do  some  man's  work  in  the  world.  My  plantation  in  Vir 
ginia  will  soon  give  me  plenty  of  wholesome  out-of-door 
thoughts." 

She  gave  him  one  of  her  sad  smiles  as  she  replied  wear 
ily,  "You  set  me  a  good  example." 

This  frank  interchange  of  thought  appeared  at  first  to 
have  a  good  effect  on  Grace,  and  brought  something  of  the 
rest  which  comes  from  submission  to  the  inevitable.  She 
found  that  Graham's  purpose  was  as  immovable  as  the  hills, 
and  at  the  same  time  was  more  absolutely  convinced  that 
he  was  not  looking  forward  to  what  seemed  an  impossible 
future.  Nor  did  he  ask  that  her  effort  should  be  one  of 
feeble  struggles  to  manifest  an  interest  before  him  which 
she  did  not  feel.  She  yielded  to  her  listlessness  and  apathy 
to  a  degree  that  alarmed  her  father  and  Mrs.  Mayburn,  but 
Graham  said:  "It's  the  course  of  nature.  After  such  pro 
longed  suffering,  both  body  and  mind  need  this  lethargy. 
Reaction  from  one  extreme  to  another  might  be  expected." 

Dr.  Markham  agreed  in  the  main  with  this  view,  and  yet 
there  was  a  slight  contraction  of  perplexity  on  his  brows  as 
he  added:  "I  should  not  like  to  see  this  tendency  increase 
beyond  a  certain  point,  or  continue  too  long.  Prom  the 
first  shock  of  her  bereavement  Mrs.  Hilland's  mind  has  not 
been  exactly  in  a  normal  condition.  There  are  phases  of 


326  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

her  trouble  difficult  to  account  for  and  difficult  to  treat. 
The  very  fineness  of  her  organization  made  the  terrible 
shock  more  serious  in  its  injury.  I  do  not  say  this  to  dis 
courage  you — far  from  it — but  in  sincerity  I  must  call  your 
attention  to  the  fact  that  every  new  phase  of  her  grief  has 
tended  to  some  extreme  manifestation,  showing  a  disposi 
tion  toward,  not  exactly  mental  weakness,  but  certainly  an 
abnormal  mental  condition.  I  speak  of  this  that  you  may 
intelligently  guard  against  it.  If  due  precaution  is  used, 
the  happy  mean  between  these  reactions  may  be  reached, 
and  both  mind  and  body  recover  a  healthful  tone.  I  ad 
vise  that  you  all  seek  some  resort  by  the  sea,  a  new  one, 
without  any  associations  with  the  past. ' ' 

Within  a  few  days  they  were  at  a  seaside  inn,  a  large 
one  whose  very  size  offered  seclusion.  From  their  wide 
and  lofty  balconies  they  could  watch  the  world  come  and 
go  on  the  sea  and  on  the  land;  and  the  world  was  too  large 
and  too  distant  for  close  scrutiny  or  petty  gossip.  They 
could  have  their  meals  in  their  rooms,  or  in  the  immense 
dining- hall,  as  they  chose;  and  in  the  latter  place  the  quiet 
party  would  scarcely  attract  a  second  glance  from  the  young, 
gay,  and  sensation-loving.  Their  transient  gaze  would  see 
two  old  ladies,  one  an  invalid,  an  old  and  crippled  man,  and 
one  much  younger,  who  evidently  would  never  take  part  in 
a  german. 

It  was  thought  and  hoped  that  this  nearness  to  the  com 
plex  world,  with  the  consciousness  that  it  could  not  ap- 
proach  her  to  annoy  and  pry,  might  tend  to  awaken  in 
Grace  a  passing  interest  in  its  many  phases.  She  could  see 
without  feeling  that  she  was  scanned  and  surmised  about,  as 
is  too  often  the  case  in  smaller  houses  wherein  the  guests 
are  not  content  until  they  have  investigated  all  new 
comers. 

But  Grace  disappointed  her  friends.  She  was  as  indiffer 
ent  to  the  world  about  her  as  the  world  was  to  her.  At  first 
she  was  regarded  as  a  quiet  invalid,  and  scarcely  noticed. 
The  sea  seemed  to  interest  her  more  than  all  things  else, 


THE   EFFORT   TO   LIVE  327 

and,  if  uninterrupted,  she  would  sit  and  gaze  at  its  vary 
ing  aspects  for  hours. 

According  to  Graham's  plan,  she  was  permitted,  with 
little  interference,  to  follow  her  mood.  Mrs.  Mayburn  was 
like  a  watchful  mother,  the  major  much  his  former  self,  for 
his  habits  were  too  fixed  for  radical  changes.  Grace  would 
quietly  do  anything  he  asked,  but  she  grew  more  forgetful 
and  inattentive,  coming  out  of  her  deep  abstraction — if  such 
it  could  be  termed — with  increasing  effort.  With  Graham 
she  seemed  more  content  than  with  any  one  else.  With 
him  she  took  lengthening  walks  on  the  beach.  He  sat 
quietly  beside  her  while  she  watched  the  billows  chasing 
one  another  to  the  shore.  Their  swift  onset,  their  defeat, 
over  which  they  appeared  to  foam  in  wrath,  their  backward 
and  disheartened  retreat,  ever  seemed  to  tell  her  in  some 
dim  way  a  story  of  which  she  never  wearied.  Often  she 
would  turn  and  look  at  him  with  a  vague  trouble  in  her 
face,  as  if  faintly  remembering  something  that  was  a  sorrow 
to  them  both;  but  his  reassuring  smile  quieted  her,  and  she 
would  take  his  hand  as  a  little  child  might  have  done,  and 
sit  for  an  hour  without  removing  her  eyes  from  the  waves. 
He  waited  patiently  day  after  day,  week  after  week,  reiter 
ating  to  himself,  "She  will  waken,  she  will  remember  all, 
and  then  will  have  strength  and  calmness  to  meet  it.  This 
is  nature's  long  repose." 

It  was  growing  strangely  Jong  and  deep. 

Meanwhile  Grace,  in  her  outward  appearance,  was  under 
going  a  subtle  change.  Graham  was  the  first  to  observe  it, 
and  at  last  it  was  apparent  to  all.  As  her  mind  became 
inert,  sleeping  on  a  downy  couch  of  forgetfulness,  closely 
curtained,  the  silent  forces  of  physical  life,  in  her  deep 
tranquillity,  were  doing  an  artist's  work.  The  hollow 
cheeks  were  gradually  rounded  and  given  the  faintest  pos 
sible  bloom.  Her  form  was  gaining  a  contour  that  might 
satisfy  a  sculptor's  dream. 

The  major  had  met  old  friends,  and  it  was  whispered 
about  who  they  were — the  widow  of  a  millionaire;  Colonel 


328  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

Graham,  one  of  the  most  dashing  cavalry  officers  in  the  war 
which  was  still  in  all  minds;  Major  St.  John,  a  veteran 
soldier  of  the  regular  service,  who  had  been  wounded  in  the 
Mexican  War  and  who  was  well  and  honorably  known  to 
the  chief  dignitaries  of  the  former  generation.  Knowing  all 
this,  the  quidnuncs  complacently  felt  at  first  that  they  knew 
all.  The  next  thing  was  to  know  the  people.  This  proved 
to  be  difficult  indeed.  The  major  soon  found  a  few  veteran 
cronies  at  whist,  but  to  others  was  more  unapproachable 
than  a  major-general  of  the  old  school.  Graham  was  far 
worse,  and  belles  tossed  their  heads  at  the  idea  that  he  had 
ever  been  a  "dashing  cavalry  officer"  or  dashing  anything 
else.  Before  the  summer  was  over  the  men  began  to  dis 
cover  that  Mrs.  Hilland  was  the  most  beautiful  woman  in 
the  house — strangely, marvellously,  supernaturally  beautiful. 

An  artist,  who  had  found  opportunity  to  watch  the  poor 
unconscious  woman  furtively — not  so  furtively  either  but 
that  any  belle  in  the  hostelry  would  know  all  about  it  in 
half  a  minute — raved  about  the  combination  of  charms  he 
had  discovered. 

"Just  imagine,"  he  said,  "what  a  picture  she  made  as 
she  sat  alone  on  the  beach !  She  was  so  remarkable  in  her 
appearance  that  one  might  think  she  had  arisen  from  the  sea, 
and  was  not  a  creature  of  the  earth.  Her  black,  close-fit 
ting  dress  suggested  the  form  of  Aphrodite  as  she  rose  from 
the  waves.  Her  profile  was  almost  faultless  in  its  exquisite 
lines.  Her  complexion,  with  just  a  slight  warm  tinge  im 
parted  by  the  breeze,  had  not  the  cold,  dead  white  of  snow, 
but  the  clear  transparency  which  good  aristocratic  blood  im 
parts.  But  her  eyes  and  hair  were  her  crowning  features. 
How  shall  I  describe  the  deep,  dreamy  languor  of  her  large, 
dark  eyes,  made  a  hundred-fold  more  effective  by  the  silvery 
whiteness  of  her  hair,  which  had  partly  escaped  from  her 
comb,  and  fell  upon  her  neck!  And  then  her  sublime,  tran 
quil  indifference!  That  I  was  near,  spellbound  with  admira 
tion,  did  not  interest  her  so  much  as  a  sail,  no  larger  than  a 
gull's  wing,  far  out  at  sea.  ' 


THE   EFFORT  TO   LIVE  329 

"Strange,  strange!"  said  one  of  his  friends,  laughing; 
"her  unconsciousness  of  your  presence  was  the  strangest 
part  of  it  all.  Why  did  you  not  make  a  sketch  ?" 

"I  did,  but  that  infernal  Colonel  Graham,  who  is  said  to 
be  her  shadow — after  her  million,  you  know — suddenly  ap 
peared  and  asked  sternly:  'Have  you  the  lady's  permission 
for  this  sketch  ?'  I  stammered  about  being  'so  impressed, 
that  in  the  interests  of  art,'  etc.  He  then  snatched  my 
sketch  and  threw  it  into  the  waves.  Of  course  1  was  angry, 
and  I  suppose  my  words  and  manner  became  threatening. 
He  took  a  step  toward  me,  looking  as  1  never  saw  a  man 
look.  'Hush,'  he  said,  in  a  low  voice.  'Say  or  do  a  thing 
to  annoy  that  lady,  and  I'll  wring  your  neck  and  toss  you 
after  your  sketch.  Do  you  think  I've  been  through  a  hun 
dred  battles  to  fear  your  insignificance?'  By  Jove!  he 
looked  as  if  he  could  do  it  as  easily  as  say  it.  Of  course 
I  was  not  going  to  brawl  before  a  lady." 

"No;  it  wouldn't  have  been  prudent — I  mean  gentle 
manly,"  remarked  his  bantering  friend. 

"Well,  laugh  at  me,"  replied  the  young  fellow,  who  was 
as  honest  as  light-hearted  and  vain.  "I'd  risk  the  chance 
of  having  my  neck  wrung  for  another  glimpse  at  such  mar 
vellous  beauty.  Would  you  believe  it?  the  superb  creature 
never  so  much  as  once  turned  to  glance  at  us.  She  left  me 
to  her  attendant  -as  completely  as  if  he  were  removing  an 
annoying  insect.  Heavens!  but  it  was  the  perfection  of 
high  breeding.  But  I  shall  have  my  revenge:  I'll  paint 
her  yet." 

"Right,  my  friend,  right  you  are;  and  your  revenge  will 
be  terrible.  Her  supernatural  and  high-bred  nonchalance 
will  be  lost  forever  should  she  see  her  portrait;"  and  with 
mutual  chaffing,  spiced  with  good-natured  satire,  as  good- 
naturedly  received,  the  little  party  in  a  smoking-room 
separated. 

But  furtive  eyes  soon  relieved  the  artist  from  the  charge 
of  exaggeration.  Thus  far  Grace's  manner  had  been  ascribed 
to  high-bred  reserve  and  the  natural  desire  for  seclusion  in 


330  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

her  widowhood.  Now,  however,  that  attention  was  concen 
trated  upon  her,  Graham  feared  that  more  than  her  beauty 
would  be  discovered. 

He  himself  also  longed  inexpressibly  to  hide  his  new 
phase  of  trouble  from  the  chattering  throng  of  people  who 
were  curious  to  know  about  them.  To  know  ?  As  if  they 
could  know!  They  might  better  sit  down  to  gossip  over 
the  secrets  of  the  differential  and  the  integral  calculus. 

But  he  saw  increasing  evidences  that  they  were  becom 
ing  objects  of  "interest,"  and  the  beautiful  millionaire 
widow  "very  interesting,"  as  it  was  phrased;  and  he  knew 
that  there  is  no  curiosity  so  penetrating  as  that  of  the  fash 
ionable  world  when  once  it  is  aroused,  and  the  game  deemed 
worthy  of  pursuit. 

People  appeared  from  Washington  who  had  known  Lieu 
tenant- Colonel  Hilland  and  heard  something  of  Graham, 
and  the  past  was  being  ferreted  out.  "Her  hair  had  turned 
white  from  grief  in  a  night,"  it  was  confidently  affirmed. 

Poor  Jones  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  he  thought:  "I 
shall  never  be  the  cause  of  my  wife's  hair  turning  white, 
unless  I  may,  in  the  future,  prevent  her  from  dyeing  it. ' ' 

After  all,  sympathy  was  not  very  deep.  It  was  generally 
concluded  that  Colonel  Graham  would  console  her,  and  one 
lady  of  elegant  leisure,  proud  of  her  superior  research,  de 
clared  that  she  had  seen  the  colonel  "holding  Mrs.  Hilland 's 
hand, ' '  as  they  sat  in  a  secluded  angle  of  the  rocks. 

Up  to  a  certain  time  it  was  comparatively  easy  to  shield 
Grace;  but  now,  except  as  she  would  turn  her  large,  dreamy 
eyes  and  unresponsive  lips  upon  those  who  sought  her  ac 
quaintance,  she  was  as  helpless  as  a  child.  The  major  and 
Mrs.  Mayburn  at  once  acquiesced  in  Graham's  wish  to  de 
part.  Within  a  day  or  two  the  gossips  found  that  their 
prey  had  escaped,  and  Grace  was  once  more  in  her  cottage 
home. 

At  first  she  recognized  familiar  surroundings  with  a  sigh 
of  content.  Then  a  deeply  troubled  look  flitted  across  her 
face  and  she  looked  at  Graharn  inquiringly. 


THE   EFFORT   TO    LIVE  331 

"What  is  it,  Grace?"  he  asked,  gently. 

She  pressed  her  hand  to  her  brow,  glanced  around  once 
more,  shook  her  head  sadly,  and  went  to  her  room  to  throw 
oS  her  wraps 

They  all  looked  at  one  another  with  consternation. 
Hitherto  they  had  tried  to  be  dumb  and  blind,  each  hiding 
the  growing  and  awful  conviction  that  Grace  was  drifting 
away  from  them  almost  as  surely  as  if  she  had  died. 

"Something  must  be  done  at  once,"  said  practical  Mrs. 
May  burn. 

"I  have  telegraphed  for  Dr.  Markham,"  replied  Graham, 
gloomily.  "Nothing  can  be  done  till  he  returns.  He  is 
away  on  a  distant  trip. ' ' 

"Oh!"  groaned  the  old  major,  "there  will  be  an  end  of 
me  before  there  is  to  all  this  trouble." 


332  HIS    SOMBRE    RIVALS 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII 
GRAHAM'S  LAST  SACRIFICE 

A  TERRIBLE  foreboding  oppressed  Graham.  Would 
Grace  fulfil  her  prediction  and  disappoint  him,  after 
all  ?  Would  she  elude  him,  escape,  die,  and  yet  re 
main  at  his  side,  beautiful  as  a  dream  ?  Oh,  the  agony  of 
possessing  this  perfect  casket,  remembering  the  jewel  that 
had  vanished !  He  had  vowed  to  defeat  his  gloomy  rivals, 
Grief  and  Death,  and  they  were  mocking  him,  giving  the 
semblance  of  what  he  craved  beyond  even  imagined  perfec 
tion,  but  carrying  away  into  their  own  inscrutable  darkness 
the  woman  herself. 

W hat  was  Grace  ? — what  becoming?  As  he  looked  he 
thought  of  her  as  a  sculptor's  ideal  embodied,  a  dream  of 
beauty  only,  not  a  woman — as  the  legend  of  Eve,  who 
might,  before  becoming  a  living  soul,  have  harmonized 
with  the  loveliness  of  her  garden  without  seeing  or  feel 
ing  it. 

He  could  not  think  of  her  mind  as  blotted  out  or  per 
verted;  he  could  not  conceive  of  it  otherwise  than  as  cor 
responding  with  her  outward  symmetry.  To  his  thought 
it  slumbered,  as  her  form  might  repose  upon  her  couch,  in 
a  death-like  trance.  She  went  and  came  among  them  like 
a  somnambulist,  guided  by  unconscious  instincts,  memories, 
and  habits. 

She  knew  their  voices,  did,  within  limitations,  as  they 
lequested;  but  when  she  waited  on  her  father  there  was  a 
sad,  mechanical  repetition  of  what  she  had  done  since 


GRAHAM'S    LAST  SACRIFICE  333 

childhood.  Mrs.  Mayburn  found  her  docile  and  easily  con 
trolled,  and  the  heart-stricken  old  lady  was  vigilance  itself. 

Toward  Graham,  however,  her  manner  had  a  marked 
characteristic.  He  was  her  master,  and  she  a  dumb,  lovely, 
unreasoning  creature,  that  looked  into  his  eyes  for  guidance, 
and  gathered  more  from  his  tones  than  from  his  words. 
Some  faint  consciousness  of  the  past  had  grown  into  an  in 
stinct  that  to  him  she  must  look  for  care  and  direction;  and 
she  never  thought  of  resisting  his  will.  If  he  read  to  her, 
she  turned  to  him  her  lovely  face,  across  which  not  a  gleam 
of  interest  or  intelligence  would  pass.  If  he  brought  her 
flowers,  she  would  hold  them  until  they  were  taken  from 
her.  She  would  pace  the  garden  walks  by  his  side,  with 
her  hand  upon  his  arm,  by  the  hour  if  he  wished  it,  some 
times  smiling  faintly  at  his  gentle  tones,  but  giving  no  proof 
that  she  understood  the  import  of  his  words.  At  Hilland's 
name  only  she  would  start  and  tremble  as  if  some  deep 
chord  were  struck,  which  could  merely  vibrate  until  its 
sounds  were  faint  and  meaningless. 

It  was  deeply  touching  also  to  observe  in  her  sad  eclipse 
how  her  ingrained  refinement  asserted  itself.  In  all  her 
half-conscious  action  there  was  never  a  coarse  look  or 
word.  She  was  a  rose  without  its  perfume.  She  was  a 
woman  without  a  woman's  mind  and  heart.  These  had 
been  subtracted,  with  all  the  differences  they  made;  other 
wise  she  was  Grace  ELilland. 

Graham  was  profoundly  perplexed  and  distressed.  The 
problem  had  become  too  deep  for  him.  The  brain,  nour 
ished  by  good  blood,  had  not  brought  life.  All  his  skill 
and  that  of  those  allied  with  him  had  failed.  The  material 
ist  had  matter  in  the  perfection  of  breathing  outline,  but 
where  was  the  woman  he  loved  ?  How  could  he  reach  her, 
how  make  himself  understood  by  her,  except  as  some  timid, 
docile  creature  responds  to  a  caress  or  a  tone  ?  His  very 
power  over  her  was  terrifying.  It  was  built  upon  the  in 
stinct,  the  allegiance  that  cannot  reason  but  is  unquestion 
ing.  Nothing  could  so  have  daunted  his  hope,  courage,  and 


334:  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

will  as  the  exquisite  being  Grace  had  become,  as  she  looked 
up  to  him  with  her  large,  mild,  trusting  eyes,  from  which 
thought,  intelligence,  and  volition  had  departed. 

At  last  Dr.  Markham  came,  and  for  several  days  watched 
his  patient  closely,  she  giving  little  heed  to  his  presence. 
They  all  hung  on  his  perturbed  looks  with  a  painful  anx 
iety.  For  a  time  he  was  very  reticent,  but  one  day  he  fol 
lowed  Graham  to  his  quarters  in  Mrs.  Mayburn's  cottage, 
where  he  was  now  much  alone.  Grace  seemed  to  miss  him 
but  slightly,  although  she  always  gave  some  sign  of  wel 
come  on  his  return.  The  mocking  semblance  of  all  that  he 
could  desire  often  so  tantalized  him  that  her  presence"  be 
came  unendurable.  The  doctor  found  him  pacing  his  room 
in  a  manner  betokening  his  half -despairing  perplexity. 

"Colonel  Graham,"  he  said,  "shall  I  surprise  you  when 
I  say  physicians  are  very  fallible  ?  I  know  that  it  is  not 
the  habit  of  the  profession  to  admit  this,  but  I  have 
not  come  here  to  talk  nonsense  to  you.  You  have  trusted 
me  in  this  matter,  and  admitted  me  largely  into  your  con 
fidence,  and  I  shall  speak  to  you  in  honest,  plain  English. 
Mrs.  Hilland's  symptoms  are  very  serious.  What  I  feared 
has  taken  place.  From  her  acute  and  prolonged  mental  dis 
tress  and  depression,  of  which  she  would  have  died  had  you 
not  come,  she  reacted  first  into  mental  lethargy,  and  now 
into  almost  complete  mental  inactivity.  I  cannot  discover 
that  any  disturbed  physical  functions  have  been  an  ele 
ment  in  her  mental  aberration,  for  more  perfect  physical 
life  and  loveliness  I  have  never  seen.  Her  white  hair, 
which  might  have  made  her  look  old,  is  a  foil  to  a  beauty 
which  seems  to  defy  age. 

"Pardon  me  for  saying  it,  but  I  fear  our  treatment  has 
been  superficial.  We  men  of  the  world  may  believe  what 
we  please,  but  to  many  natures,  especially  to  an  organiza 
tion  like  Mrs.  flilland's,  hope  and  faith  are  essential.  She 
has  practically  been  without  these  from  the  first,  and,  as 
you  know,  she  was  sinking  under  the  struggle  maintained 
by  her  own  brave,  womanly  spirit.  She  was  contending 


GRAHAM'S   LAST  SACRIFICE  335 

with  more  than  actual  bereavement.  It  was  the  hopeless 
ness  of  the  struggle  that  crushed  her,  for  she  is  not  one  of 
that  large  class  of  women  who  can  find  consolation  in  crape 
and  becoming  mourning. 

"In  response  to  your  appeal,  she  did  make  the  effort  you 
required,  but  it  was  the  effort  of  a  mind  still  without  hope 
or  faith — one  that  saw  no  remedy  for  the  evils  that  had 
already  overwhelmed  her — and  I  must  bear  witness  that 
her  efforts  were  as  sincere  as  they  were  pathetic.  We  all 
watched  to  give  every  assistance  in  our  power.  I've  lain 
awake  nights,  Colonel  Graham,  to  think  of  remedies  that 
would  meet  her  needs;  and  good  Mrs.  May  burn  and  your 
old  black  cook,  Aunt  Sheba,  prepared  food  fit  for  the  gods. 
You  were  more  untiring  and  effective  than  any  of  us,  and 
the  major's  very  infirmities  were  among  her  strongest  allies. 
Well,  we  have  the  result — a  woman  who  might  be  a  model 
for  a  goddess,  even  to  her  tranquil  face,  in  which  there  is 
no  trace  of  varying  human  feeling.  Explanation  of  the  evil 
that  crushed  her,  hope,  and  faith  were  not  given — who  can 
give  them  ? — but  they  were  essential  to  her  from  the  first. 
Unbelief,  which  is  a  refuge  to  some,  was  an  abyss  to  her. 
In  it  she  struggled  and  groped  until  her  mind,  appalled 
and  discouraged  and  overwhelmed,  refused  to  act  at  all. 
In  one  sense  it  is  a  merciful  oblivion,  in  another  a  fatal 
one,  from  which  she  must  be  aroused  if  possible.  But  it's 
a  hard,  hard  case." 

"You  make  it  hard  indeed,"  said  Graham,  desperately. 
"What  faith  can  I  instil  except  the  one  1  have?  I  can't 
lie,  even  for  Grace  Hilland.  She  knew  well  once  that  I 
could  easily  die  for  her." 

"Well,  then,"  said  the  physician,  "permit  a  plain,  direct 
question.  Will  you  marry  her  ?" 

"Marry  her — as  she  now  is?"  cried  Graham,  in  un 
feigned  astonishment. 

"You  said  you  could  die  for  her.  This  may  be  going 
much  further.  Indeed  I  should  call  it  the  triumph  of  hu 
man  affection,  for  in  honesty  I  must  tell  you  that  she  may 


336  HIS    SOMBRE    RIVALS 

never  be  better,  she  may  become  worse.  But  I  regard  it  as 
her  only  chance.  At  any  rate,  she  needs  a  vigilant  care 
taker.  Old  Mrs.  May  burn  will  not  be  equal  to  the  task 
much  longer,  and  her  place  will  have  to  be  filled  by  hired 
service.  1  know  it  is  like  suggesting  an  almost  impossible 
sacrifice  to  broach  even  the  thought,  remembering  her  con 
dition,  but — " 

"Dr.  Markham, "  said  Graham,  pacing  the  floor  in  great 
agitation,  "you  wholly  misunderstand  me.  1  was  thinking 
of  her,  not  of  myself.  What  right  have  I  to  marry  Grace 
Hilland  without  her  consent  ?  She  could  give  no  intelligent 
assent  at  present." 

"The  right  of  your  love;  the  right  her  husband  gave 
when  he  committed  her  to  your  care;  the  right  of  your  de 
sire  to  prevent  her  from  drifting  into  hopeless,  lifelong  im 
becility,  wherein  she  would  be  almost  at  the  mercy  of  hired 
attendants,  helpless  to  shield  herself  from  any  and  every 
wrong;  the  right  of  a  man  to  sacrifice  himself  absolutely 
for  another  if  he  chooses." 

"But  she  might  waken  from  this  mental  trance  and  feel 
that  I  had  taken  a  most  dishonorable  advantage  of  her  help 
lessness.  ' ' 

"Yes,  you  run  that  risk;  but  here  is  one  man  who  will 
assure  her  to  the  contrary,  and  you  would  be  sustained  by 
the  consciousnes  of  the  purest  motives.  It  is  that  she  may 
waken  that  I  suggest  the  step;  mark,  I  do  not  advise  it. 
As  I  said  at  first,  I  am  simply  treating  you  with  absolute 
confidence  and  sincerity.  If  matters  go  on  as  they  are,  I 
have  little  or  no  hope.  Mrs.  Mayburn  is  giving  way  under 
the  strain,  and  symptoms  of  her  old  disorder  are  returning. 
She  cannot  watch  Mrs.  Hilland  much  longer  as  she  has  been 
doing.  Whom  will  you  put  in  her  place  ?  Will  you  send 
Mrs.  Hilland  to  an  asylum,  with  its  rules  and  systems  and 
its  unknown  attendants  ?  Moreover,  her  present  tranquil 
condition  may  not  last  She  may  become  as  violent  as  she 
now  is  gentle.  She  may  gradually  regain  her  intelligence, 
or  it  may  be  restored  to  her  by  some  sudden  shock.  If  the 


GRAHAM'S    LAST   SACRIFICE  337 

mysteries  of  the  physical  nature  so  baffle  us,  who  can  pre 
dict  the  future  of  a  disordered  intellect  ?  I  have  presented 
the  darkest  side  of  the  picture;  I  still  think  it  has  its  bright 
side.  She  has  no  hereditary  mental  weakness  to  contend 
with.  As  it  developed  somewhat  gradually,  it  may  pass  in 
the  same  manner.  If  you  should  marry  her  and  take  her 
at  once  to  Europe,  change  of  scene,  of  life,  with  your  vigi 
lant  presence  ever  near,  might  become  important  factors  in 
the  problem.  The  memory  that  she  was  committed  to  your 
care  has  degenerated  into  a  controlling  instinct;  but  that  is 
far  better  than  nothing.  The  only  real  question  in  my  mind 
is,  Are  you  willing  to  make  the  sacrifice  and  take  the  risks  ? 
You  know  the  world  will  say  you  married  her  for  her 
money,  and  that  will  be  hard  on  a  man  like  you." 

Graham  made  a  gesture  of  contempt:  "That  for  the 
world,"  he  said.  "Have  you  broached  this  subject  to  her 
father  and  my  aunt?" 

"Certainly  not  before  speaking  to  you." 

"You  then  give  me  your  assurance,  as  a  man,  that  you 
believe  this  right,  and  that  it  is  Grace  Hilland's  best  chance 
— indeed,  almost  her  only  chance — for  recovery?" 

"I  do  most  unhesitatingly,  and  I  shall  do  more.  I  shall 
bring  from  New  York  an  eminent  physician  who  has  made 
mental  disease  a  study  all  his  life,  and  he  shall  either  con 
firm  my  opinion  or  advise  you  better. ' ' 

"Do  so,  Dr.  Markham,"  said  Graham,  very  gravely. 
"I  have  incurred  risks  before  in  my  life,  but  none  like 
this.  If  from  any  cause  Mrs.  Hilland  should  recover  mem 
ory  and  full  intelligence,  and  reproach  me  for  having  taken 
advantage  of  a  condition  which,  even  among  savage  tribes, 
renders  the  afflicted  one  sacred,  all  the  fiendish  tortures  of 
the  Inquisition  would  be  nothing  to  what  I  should  suffer. 
Still,  prove  to  me,  prove  to  her  father,  that  it  is  her  best 
chance,  and  for  Grace  Hilland  I  will  take  even  this  risk. 
Please  remember  there  must  be  no  professional  generalities. 
I  must  have  your  solemn  written  statement  that  it  is  for 
Mrs.  Hilland's  sake  I  adopt  the  measure." 
0— ROE— XIII 


338  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

"So  be  it,"  was  the  reply.  "I  shall  telegraph  to  Dr. 
Armand  immediately  to  expect  me,  and  shall  say  that  I 
wish  him  to  be  prepared  to  come  at  once." 

"Do  so,  and  consider  no  question  of  expense.  I  am  no 
longer  poor,  and  if  I  were,  I  would  mortgage  my  blood  at 
this  juncture." 

On  the  following  evening  Dr.  Armand  was  almost  startled 
by  the  vision  on  the  veranda  of  the  St.  John  cottage.  A 
silvery- haired  woman  sat  looking  placidly  at  the  glowing 
sunset,  with  its  light  and  its  rose-hues  reflected  in  her  face. 

"If  ever  there  was  a  picture  of  a  glorified  saint,  there  is 
one,"  he  muttered,  as  he  advanced  and  bowed. 

She  gave  him  no  attention,  but  with  dark  eyes,  made 
brilliant  by  the  level  rays,  she  gazed  steadily  on  the  closing 
day.  The  physician  stole  a  step  or  two  nearer,  and  looked 
as  steadily  at  her,  while  his  experienced  eye  detected  in  all 
her  illuminated  beauty  the  absence  of  the  higher,  more 
subtle  light  of  reason.  Dr.  Markham  had  told  him  next 
to  nothing  about  the  case,  and  had  asked  him  to  go  and 
see  for  himself,  impressing  him  only  with  the  fact  that  it 
was  a  question  of  vital  importance  that  he  was  to  aid  in 
deciding;  that  he  must  give  it  his  whole  professional  skill, 
and  all  the  necessary  time,  regardless  of  expense.  The 
moment  he  saw  Grace,  however,  the  business  aspect  of  the 
affair  passed  from  his  mind.  His  ruling  passion  was  aroused, 
and  he  was  more  than  physician — a  student — as  the  great  in 
any  calling  ever  are. 

Graham  came  to  the  door  and  recognized  instinctively 
the  intent,  eagle-eyed  man,  who  merely  nodded  and  mo 
tioned  him  to  approach  his  patient.  Graham  did  so,  and 
Grace  turned  her  eyes  to  him  with  a  timid,  questioning 
glance.  He  offered  her  his  arm;  she  rose  instantly  and  took 
it,  and  began  walking  with  him. 

"Were  you  looking  at  the  sunset,  Grace?" 

She  turned  upon  him  the  same  inquiring  eyes,  but  did 
not  answer. 

"Do  you  not  think  it  very  beautiful?     Does  it  not  re- 


GRAHAM'S   LAST  SACRIFICE  339 

mind  you  of  the  sunset  you  saw  on  the  evening  when 
I  returned  from  my  first  battle?" 

She  shook  her  head,  and  only  looked  perplexed. 

"Why,  Grace,"  he  continued,  as  if  provoked,  "you  must 
remember.  I  was  carried,  you  know,  and  you  and  Mrs. 
May  burn  acted  as  if  my  scratches  were  mortal  wounds." 

She  looked  frightened  at  his  angry  tones,  clasped  her 
hands,  and  with  tears  in  her  eyes  looked  pleadingly  up  to  him. 

"Dear  Grace,  don't  be  worried."  He  now  spoke  in  the 
gentlest  tones,  and  lifted  her  hand  to  his  lips.  A  quick, 
evanescent  smile  illumined  her  face.  She  fawned  against 
his  shoulder  a  moment,  placed  his  hand  against  her  cheek, 
and  then  leaned  upon  his  arm  as  they  resumed  their  walk, 
Dr.  Armand  keeping  near  them  without  in  the  least  attract 
ing  her  attention. 

"Grace,"  resumed  Graham,  "you  must  remember.  Hil- 
land,  Warren,  you  know." 

She  dropped  his  arm,  looked  wildly  around,  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands,  and  shuddered  convulsively. 

After  a  moment  he  said,  kindly  but  firmly,  "Grace,  dear 
Grace." 

She  sprang  to  him,  seized  his  hand,  and  casting  a  look 
of  suspicion  at  Dr.  Armand,  drew  him  away. 

A  few  moments  later  she  was  again  looking  tranquilly  at 
the  west,  but  the  light  had  departed  from  the  sky  and  from 
her  face.  It  had  the  look  of  one  who  saw  not,  thought  and 
felt  not.  It  was  breathing,  living  death. 

Graham  looked  at  her  mournfully  for  a  few  moments, 
and  then,  with  a  gesture  that  was  almost  despairing,  turned 
to  the  physician,  who  had  not  lost  a  single  expression. 

"Thank you,"  was  that  gentleman's  first  laconic  remark; 
and  he  dropped  into  a  chair,  still  with  his  eyes  on  the  mo 
tionless  figure  of  Grace. 

At  last  he  asked,  "How  long  would  she  maintain  that 
position  ?" 

"I  scarcely  know,"  was  the  sad  response;  "many  hours 
certainly." 


340  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

"Please  let  her  retain  it  till  I  request  you  to  interfere. 
The  moon  is  rising  almost  full,  the  evening  ie  warm,  and 
she  can  take  no  harm. ' ' 

The  major  tottered  out  on  his  crutches,  and  was  given 
his  chair,  the  physician  meanwhile  being  introduced.  Brief 
and  courteous  was  Dr.  Armand's  acknowledgment,  but  he 
never  took  his  eyes  from  his  patient.  The  same  was  true 
of  his  greeting  to  Mrs.  May  burn;  but  that  good  lady's  hos 
pitable  instincts  soon  asserted  themselves,  and  she  announced 
that  dinner  was  ready. 

"Take  Mrs.  Hilland  to  dinner,"  said  the  physician  to 
Graham;  "but  first  introduce  me." 

The  young  man  approached  and  said,  "Grace."  She 
rose  instantly  and  took  his  arm.  "This  is  Dr.  Armand, 
Grace.  He  has  called  to  see  you."  She  made  him  a 
courteous  inclination,  and  then  turned  to  Graham  to  see 
what  next  was  expected  of  her,  but  he  only  led  her  to  the 
dining-room. 

"Gracie,  darling,  bring  me  my  cushion,"  said  her  father, 
speaking  as  he  had  been  used  to  do  when  she  was  a  little  girl. 

She  brought  it  mechanically  and  arranged  it,  then  stood 
in  expectancy.  "That  will  do,  dear;"  and  she  returned  to 
her  seat  in  silence.  Throughout  the  meal  she  maintained 
this  silence,  although  Dr.  Armand  broached  many  topics, 
avoiding  only  the  name  of  her  husband.  Her  manner  was 
that  of  a  little,  quiet,  well-bred  child,  who  did  not  under 
stand  what  was  said,  and  had  no  interest  in  it.  The  phy 
sician's  scrutiny  did  not  embarrass  her;  she  had  never 
remembered,  much  less  forgotten  him. 

When  the  meal  was  over  they  all  returned  to  the  piazza. 
At  the  physician's  request  she  was  placed  in  her  old  seat, 
and  they  all  sat  down  to  watch.  The  moon  rose  higher  and 
higher,  made  her  hair  more  silvery,  touched  her  still  face 
with  a  strange,  ethereal  beauty,  and  threw  the  swaying 
shadow  of  a  spray  of  woodbine  across  her  motionless  figure 
— so  motionless  that  she  seemed  a  sculptured  rather  than 
a  breathing  woman. 


GRAHAM'S   LAST  SACRIFICE  341 

After  a  while  the  old  major  rose  and  groaned  as  he  tot 
tered  away.  Mrs.  Mayburn,  in  uncontrollable  nervous 
restlessness,  soon  followed,  that  she  might  find  relief  in 
household  cares.  The  two  men  watched  on  till  hours  had 
passed,  and  still  the  lovely  image  had  not  stirred.  At  last 
Dr.  Armand  approached  her  and  said,  "Mrs.  Hilland." 

She  rose,  and  stood  coldly  aloof.  The  name,  with  her 
prefix,  did  not  trouble  her.  She  had  long  been  accustomed 
to  that.  "Hilland,1'  as  Graham  uttered  the  word,  alone 
affected  her,  touching  some  last  deep  chord  of  memory. 

"Mrs.  Hilland,"  the  doctor  continued,  "it  is  getting  late. 
Do  you  not  think  you  had  better  retire  ?" 

She  looked  at  him  blankly,  and  glanced  around  as  if  in 
search  of  some  one. 

"I  am  here,  Grace,"  said  Graham,  emerging  from  the 
doorway. 

She  came  to  him  at  once,  and  he  led  her  to  Mrs.  May- 
burn,  kissing  her  hand,  and  receiving,  in  return,  her  strange, 
brief,  fawning  caress. 

"I  would  like  to  know  the  history  of  Mrs.  Holland's 
malady  from  the  beginning,"  said  Dr.  Armand,  when  Gra 
ham  returned. 

"I  cannot  go  over  it  again, "  replied  Graham,  hoarsely. 
"Dr.  Markham  can  tell  you  about  all,  and  I  will  answer 
any  questions.  Your  room  is  ready  for  you  here,  where 
Dr.  Markham  will  join  you  presently.  I  must  bid  you 
good-night;"  and  he  strode  away. 

But  as  he  passed  under  the  apple-tree  and  recalled  all 
that  had  occurred  there,  he  was  so  overcome  that  once  more 
he  leaned  against  it  for  support. 


342  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

MARRIED    UNCONSCIOUSLY 

THERE  was  no  sleep  for  Graham  that  night,  for  he 
knew  that  two  skilful  men  were  consulting  on  a 
question  beyond  any  that  had  agitated  his  heart  be 
fore.  As  he  paced  the  little  parlor  with  restless  steps,  Aunt 
Sheba's  ample  form  filled  the  doorway,  and  in  her  hands  was 
a  tray  bearing  such  coffee  as  only  she  knew  how  to  brew. 

"Thanks,  Aunt  Sheba,"  he  said,  motioning  to  a  table, 
without  pausing  in  his  distracted  walk. 

She  put  down  the  tray,  retreated  hesitatingly,  and  then 
began:  "Dear  Mas'r  Graham,  my  ole  heart  jes  aches  for 
yer.  But  don't  yer  be  so  cast  down,  mas'r;  de  good  Lord 
knows  it  all,  and  I'se  a-prayin'  for  yer  and  de  lubly  Miss 
Grace  night  and  day." 

He  was  so  utterly  miserable  that  he  was  grateful  for 
even  this  homely  sympathy,  and  he  took  the  old  woman's 
hand  in  his  as  he  said  kindly,  "Pray  on,  then,  good  old 
aunty,  if  it's  any  comfort  to  you.  It  certainly  can  do  no 
harm. ' ' 

"Oh,  Mas'r  Graham,  you  dunno,  you  dunno.  Wid  all 
yer  wise  knowin',  yer  dunno.  You'se  all — good  Mis'  May- 
burn,  de  ole  major,  an'  all — are  in  de  dark  land  ob  unbe- 
lievin',  like  poor  Missy  Grace.  She  doesn't  know  how 
you'se  all  tink  about  her  an'  lub  her;  needer  does  you 
know  how  de  good  Lord  tinks  about  you  and  lubs  you. 
You  guv  me  my  liberty;  you  guv  what  I  tinks  a  sight 
more  on;  you'se  been  kind  to  de  poor  old  slave  dat  los' 
all  her  chillen  in  de  weary  days  dat's  gone.  I'se  a  'mem- 


MARRED    UNCONSCIOUSLY  343 

berin'  yer  all  de  time.  You  hab  no  faith,  Mas'r  Graham, 
and  poor  ole  Aunt  Sheba  mus'  hab  faith  for  yer.  An'  so 
I  will.  I'se  a  wrastlin'  wid  de  Lord  for  yer  all  de  time, 
an'  I'se  a-gwine  to  wrastle  on  till  I  sees  yer  an'  Missy 
Grace  an'  all  comin'  inter  de  light;"  and  she  threw  her 
apron  over  her  head,  and  went  sobbing  away. 

He  paused  for  a  moment  when  she  left  him,  touched 
deeply  by  the  strong,  homely,  human  sympathy  and  grati 
tude  ot  the  kind  old  soul  who  fed  him — as  he  never  forgot 
— when  he  was  a  fugitive  in  a  hostile  land.  That  she  had 
manifested  her  feeling  after  what  he  deemed  her  own  igno 
rant,  superstitious  fashion  was  nothing.  It  was  the  genu 
ine  manifestation  of  the  best  human  traits  that  touched  him 
— pure  gerns  illumining  a  nature  otherwise  so  clouded  and 
crude. 

Late  at  night  footsteps  approached,  and  the  two  physi 
cians  entered.  "I  first  permitted  Dr.  Armand  to  form  his 
own  impressions,  and  since  have  told  him  everything,"  said 
Dr.  Markham,  "and  he  strongly  inclines  to  my  view.  Real 
izing  the  gravity  of  the  case,  however,  he  has  consented  to 
remain  a  day  or  two  longer.  We  will  give  you  no  hasty 
opinion,  and  you  shall  have  time  on  your  part  to  exercise 
the  most  deliberate  judgment." 

Dr.  Armand  confirmed  his  associate's  words,  and  added, 
"We  will  leave  you  now  to  the  rest  you  must  need  sorely. 
Let  me  assure  you,  however,  that  I  do  not  by  any  means 
consider  Mrs.  Holland's  case  hopeless,  and  that  I  am  strongly 
impressed  with  the  belief  that  her  recovery  must  come  through 
you.  A  long  train  of  circumstances  has  given  you  almost 
unbounded  influence  over  her,  as  you  enabled  me  to  see  this 
evening.  It  would  be  sad  to  place  such  a  glorious  creature 
in  the  care  of  strangers,  for  it  might  involve  serious  risk 
should  she  regain  her  memory  and  intelligence  with  no 
strong,  sympathetic  friend,  acquainted  with  her  past,  near 
her.  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  what  is  now  little  more 
than  an  instinct  will  again  develop  into  a  memory,  and 
that  the  fact  that  she  was  committed  to  your  care  will  fully 


844  BIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

reconcile  her  to  the  marriage — indeed,  render  her  most  grate 
ful  for  it,  if  capable  of  understanding  the  reasons  which  led  to 
it.  If  further  observation  confirms  my  present  impressions, 
I  and  Dr.  Markham  will  plainly  state  our  opinions  to  her 
father  and  Mrs.  May  burn.  As  my  colleague  has  said,  you 
must  comprehend  the  step  in  all  its  bearings.  It  is  one  that 
I  would  not  ask  any  man  to  take.  I  now  thinK  tnat  the 
probabilities  are  that  it  would  restore  Mrs.  flilland  to 
health  eventually.  A  year  of  foreign  travel  might  bring 
about  a  gradual  and  happy  change." 

"Take  time  to  satisfy  yourselves,  gentlemen,  and  give 
me  your  decision  as  requested.  Then  you  have  my  per 
mission  to  give  your  opinions  to  Major  St.  John." 

Within  a  week  this  was  done,  and  the  poor  old  man 
bowed  his  head  on  Graham's  shoulder  and  wept  aloud  in 
his  gratitude.  Mrs.  May  burn  also,  wiping  away  her  tears, 
faltered,  "You  know,  Alford,  how  I  schemed  for  this  mar 
riage  years  ago;  you  remember  my  poor  blind  strategy  on 
that  June  day,  do  you  not?  How  little  I  thought  it  would 
take  place  under  circumstances  like  these!  And  yet,  I've 
thought  of  it  of  late  often,  very  often.  I  could  not  go  on 
much  longer,  for  I  am  old  and  feeble,  and  it  just  broke  my 
heart  to  think  of  Grace,  our  Grace,  passing  into  the  hands 
of  some  hired  and  indifferent  stranger  or  strangers.  I  be 
lieve  she  will  recover  and  reward  your  sacrifice." 

"It  is  no  sacrifice  on  my  part,  aunt,  except  she  wakens 
only  to  reproach  me. ' ' 

"Well,  devotion,  then;  and  little  sense  she'd  ever  have," 
concluded  the  old  lady,  after  her  own  brusque  fashion,  "if 
she  does  not  fall  on  her  knees  and  bless  you.  You  could 
now  take  better  care  of  her  than  I,  for  she  trusts  and  obeys 
you  implicitly.  She  is  docile  and  gentle  with  me,  but  often 
strangely  inattentive.  She  would  be  still  more  so  with  a 
stranger;  and  the  idea  of  some  strong,  unfeeling  hands  forc 
ing  her  into  the  routine  of  her  life!" 

Thus  almost  completely  was  removed  from  his  mind  the 
unspeakable  dread  lest  he  was  taking  an  unfair  advantage 


MARRIED    UNCONSCIOUSLY  345 

of  helplessness.  He  fully  recognized  also  that  the  ordeal 
for  himself  would  be  a  terrible  one — that  it  would  be  the 
fable  of  Tantalus  repeated  for  weeks,  months,  perhaps  for 
years,  or  for  life.  The  unfulfilled  promise  of  happiness 
would  ever  be  before  him.  His  dark-visaged  rivals,  Grief 
and  Death,  would  jeer  and  mock  at  him  from  a  face  of  per 
fect  beauty.  In  a  blind,  vindictive  way  he  felt  that  his 
experience  was  the  very  irony  of  fate.  He  could  clasp  the 
perfect  material  form  of  a  woman  to  his  heart,  and  at  the 
same  time  his  heart  be  breaking  for  what  could  not  be  seen 
or  touched. 

The  question,  however,  was  decided  irrevocably.  He 
knew  that  he  could  not  leave  helpless  Grace  Hilland  to  the 
care  of  strangers,  and  that  there  was  no  place  for  him  in 
the  world  but  at  her  side;  and  yet  it  was  with  something  of 
the  timidity  and  hesitation  of  a  lover  that  he  asked  her,  as 
they  paced  a  shady  garden- walk,  "Grace,  dear  Grace,  will 
you  marry  me?" 

His  voice  was  very  low  and  gentle,  and  yet  she  turned 
upon  him  a  startled,  inquiring  look.  "Marry  you?"  she 
repeated  slowly. 

"Yes,  let  me  take  care  of  you  always,"  he  replied,  smil 
ingly,  and  yet  as  pale  almost  as  herself. 

The  word  "care"  reassured  her,  and  she  gave  him  her 
wonted  smile  of  content,  as  she  replied,  very  slowly,  "Yes. 
1  want  you  to  take  care  of  me  always.  Who  else  can  ?" 

"That's  what  I  mean  by  marryirg  you — taking  care  of 
you  always,"  he  said,  raising  her  hand  to  his  lips. 

"You  are  always  to  take  care  of  me,"  she  replied,  lean 
ing  her  head  on  his  shoulder  for  a  moment. 

"Mrs.  Mayburn  is  not  strong  enough  to  take  care  of  you 
any  longer.  She  will  take  care  of  your  father.  Will  you 
let  me  take  care  of  you  as  she  does  ?" 

She  smiled  contentedly,  for  the  word  "care"  appeared  to 
make  all  natural  and  right. 

It  was  arranged  that  they  should  be  married  in  the  pres 
ence  of  Dr.  Markham,  Aunt  Sheba,  and  Jinny,  in  addition 


346  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

to  those  so  deeply  interested.  The  physician  prepared  the 
clergyman  for  the  ceremony,  which  was  exceedingly  brief 
and  simple,  Grace  smiling  into  Graham's  face  when  he 
promised  to  take  care  of  her  always,  and  she  signifying  her 
consent  and  pleasure  in  the  manner  that  was  so  mute  and 
sad.  Then  he  told  her  that  he  was  going  to  take  her  away, 
that  she  might  get  perfectly  strong  and  well;  and  she  went 
at  his  request  without  hesitancy,  although  seeming  to  won 
der  slightly  at  the  strong  emotion  of  her  father  and  Mrs. 
May  burn  when  parting  from  her.  Jinny,  who  had  been 
her  nurse  in  childhood,  accompanied  her.  Dr.  Markham 
also  went  with  them  as  far  as  the  steamer,  and  they  sailed 
away  into  a  future  as  vague  and  unknown  to  them  as  the 
ocean  they  were  crossing. 

The  waves  seen  from  the  deck  of  the  steamer  produced 
in  Grace  the  same  content  with  which  she  had  gazed  at 
them  from  the  shore  during  the  previous  summer;  only 
now  there  were  faint  signs  of  wonder  in  her  expression, 
and  sometimes  of  perplexity.  Her  eyes  also  wandered 
around  the  great  vessel  with  something  of  the  interest  of 
a  child,  but  she  asked  no  questions.  That  Graham  was 
with  her  and  smiled  reassuringly  seemed  sufficient,  while 
the  presence  of  her  old  colored  nurse,  who  in  some  dim 
way  was  connected  with  her  past,  gave  also  an  additional 
sense  of  security. 

As  time  elapsed  and  they  began  their  wanderings  abroad, 
it  seemed  to  Graham  that  his  wife  was  beginning  life  over 
again,  as  a  very  little  quiet  child  would  observe  the  strange 
and  unaccountable  phenomena  about  it.  Instead  of  her 
fixed  vacancy  of  gaze,  her  eyes  began  to  turn  from  object 
to  object  with  a  dawning  yet  uncomprehending  interest. 
He  in  simplest  words  sought  to  explain  and  she  to  listen, 
though  it  was  evident  that  their  impression  was  slight  in 
deed.  Still  there  was  perceptible  progress,  and  when  in 
his  tireless  experimenting  he  began  to  bring  before  her 
those  things  which  would  naturally  interest  a  child,  he  was 
encouraged  to  note  that  they  won  a  larger  and  more  pleased 


MARRIED    UNCONSCIOUSLY  847 

attention.  A  garden  full  of  flowers,  a  farmyard  with  its 
sleek,  quiet  cattle,  a  band  of  music,  a  broad,  funny  panto 
mime,  were  far  more  to  her  than  Westminster  Abbey  or 
St.  Paul's.  Later,  the  variety,  color,  and  movement  of  a 
Paris  boulevard  quite  absorbed  her  attention,  and  she  fol 
lowed  one  object  after  another  with  much  the  same  expres 
sion  that  might  be  seen  on  the  face  of  a  little  girl  scarcely 
three  years  old.  This  infantile  expression,  in  contrast  with 
her  silver  hair  and  upon  her  mature  and  perfect  features, 
was  pathetic  to  the  last  degree,  and  yet  Graham  rejoiced 
with  exceeding  joy.  With  every  conscious  glance  and  in 
quiring  look  the  dawn  of  hope  brightened.  He  was  no 
longer  left  alone  in  the  awful  solitude  of  living  death.  The 
beautiful  form  was  no  longer  like  a  deserted  home.  It  now 
had  a  tenant,  even  though  it  seemed  but  the  mind  of  a  little 
child.  The  rays  of  intelligence  sent  out  were  feeble  indeed, 
but  how  much  better  than  the  blank  darkness  that  had  pre 
ceded!  Something  like  happiness  began  to  soften  and 
brighten  the  husband's  face  as  he  took  his  child-wife  here 
and  there.  He  made  the  long  galleries  of  the  Louvre  and 
of  Italy  her  picture-books,  and  while  recognizing  that  she 
was  pleased  with  little  more  than  color,  form,  and  action — 
that  the  sublime,  equally  with  the  vicious  and  superstitious 
meanings  of  the  great  masters,  were  hidden — he  was  never 
theless  cheered  and  made  more  hopeful  by  the  fact  that  she 
was  pleased  and  observant — that  she  began  to  single  out  fa 
vorites;  and  before  these  he  would  let  her  stand  as  long  as 
she  chose,  and  return  to  them  when  so  inclined. 

She  had  lost  the  power  of  reading  a  line.  She  did  not 
know  even  her  letters;  and  these  he  began  to  teach  her  with 
unflagging  zeal  and  patience.  How  the  mysterious  problem 
would  end  he  could  not  tell.  It  might  be  that  by  kindling 
a  little  light  the  whole  past  would  become  illumined;  it 
might  be  that  he  would  have  to  educate  her  over  again; 
but  be  the  future  what  it  would,  the  steadfast  principle  of 
devotion  to  her  became  more  fixed,  and  to  care  for  her  tho 
supreme  law  of  his  being. 


348  HIS  SOMBRE   RIVALS 

From  the  time  of  his  first  message  to  them  he  had  rarely 
lost  an  opportunity  to  send  a  letter  to  the  anxious  ones  at 
home,  and  their  replies  abounded  in  solicitous,  grateful 
words.  Dr.  Markham  often  called,  and  rubbed  his  hands 
with  increasing  self-gratulation  over  the  success  of  his  bold 
measure,  especially  as  encomiums  on  his  sagacity  had  been 
passed  by  the  great  Dr.  Armand. 

Nearly  a  year  had  passed,  and  Graham  and  his  wife, 
after  their  saunterings  over  the  Continent,  were  spending 
the  summer  in  the  Scottish  Highlands.  They  sailed  on  the 
lochs,  fished  from  their  banks,  and  climbed  the  mountain 
passes  on  little  shaggy  ponies  that  were  Scotch  in  their 
stubbornness  and  unflinching  endurance.  Grace  had  be 
come  even  companionable  in  her  growing  intelligence,  and 
in  the  place  of  her  silent,  inquiring  glances  there  were  some 
times  eager,  childlike  questionings. 

Of  late,  however,  Graham  noted  the  beginnings  of  an 
other  change.  With  growing  frequency  she  passed  her 
hand  over  her  brow,  that  was  contracted  in  perplexity. 
Sometimes  she  would  look  at  him  curiously,  at  Jinny,  and 
at  the  unfamiliar  scenes  of  her  environment,  then  shake  her 
head  as  if  she  could  not  comprehend  it  all.  Speedily,  how 
ever,  she  would  return  with  the  zest  of  a  quiet  little  girl  to 
the  pleasures  and  tasks  that  he  unweariedly  provided.  But 
Graham  grew  haggard  and  sleepless  in  his  vigilance,  for  he 
believed  that  the  time  of  her  awakening  was  near. 

One  day,  while  sailing  on  a  loch,  they  were  over 
taken  by  a  heavy  storm  and  compelled  to  run  before  it, 
and  thus  to  land  at  no  little  distance  from  their  inn.  Grace 
showed  much  alarm  at  the  dashing  waves  and  howling 
tempest  Nor  was  her  fright  at  the  storm  wholly  that  of 
an  unreasoning  child.  Its  fury  seemed  to  arouse  and  shock 
her,  and  while  she  clung  to  Graham's  "hand,  she  persisted  in 
sitting  upright  and  looking  about,  as  if  trying  to  compre 
hend  it  all.  After  landing  they  had  a  long,  fatiguing  ride 
in  the  darkness,  and  she  was  unusually  silent  On  reaching 
her  room  she  glanced  around  as  if  all  was  unfamiliar  and 


MARRIED    UNCONSCIOUSLY  849 

incomprehensible.  Graham  had  a  presentiment  that  the  hour 
was  near,  and  he  left  her  wholly  to  the  care  of  her  old 
colored  nurse,  but  almost  immediately,  from  excessive 
weariness,  she  sank  into  a  deep  slumber. 

Her  lethargy  lasted  so  late  in  the  following  day  that  he 
was  alarmed,  fearing  lest  her  old  symptoms  were  return 
ing.  With  anxious,  hollow  eyes,  he  watched  and  waited, 
and  at  last  she  awoke  and  looked  at  him  with  an  expression 
that  he  had  longed  for  through  many  weary  months,  and 
yet  now  it  terrified  him. 

"Alford — Mr.  Graham,"  she  began,  in  deep  surprise. 

"Hush,  dear  Grace.     You  have  been  very  ill." 

"Yes,  but  where  am  I  ?    What  has  happened  ?" 

"Very  much;  but  you  are  better  now.  Here  is  Jinny, 
your  old  nurse,  who  took  care  of  you  as  a  child." 

The  old  colored  woman  came  in,  and,  as  instructed,  said: 
"Yes,  honey,  I'se  tooken  care  ob  you  since  you  was  a  baby, 
and  I'se  nebber  lef  you." 

"Everything  looks  very  strange.  Why,  Alford,  I  had 
a  long,  sad  talk  with  you  but  a  short  time  since  in  the 
library,  and  you  were  so  kind  and  unselfish  I" 

"Yes,  Grace;  we  spoke  frankly  to  each  other,  but  you 
have  been  very  ill  since  then,  worse  than  ever  before.  At 
your  father's  request  and  Dr.  Markham's  urgent  counsel, 
1  brought  you  to  Europe.  It  was  said  to  be  your  only 
chance." 

"But  where  is  Mrs.  Mayburn?" 

"She  is  at  home  taking  care  of  your  father.  Her  old 
sickness  threatened  to  return.  She  could  take  care  of  you 
no  longer,  and  you  needed  constant  care. ' ' 

A  slow,  deep  flush  overspread  her  face  and  even  her  neck 
as  she  faltered:  "And — and — has  no  one  else  been  with  me 
but  Jinny?" 

"No  one  else  except  myself.  Grace,  dear  Grace,  lam 
your  husband.  I  was  married  to  you  in  the  presence  of 
your  father,  Mrs.  Mayburn,  and  your  family  physician." 

"Now  long  since?"  she  asked,  in  a  constrained  voice. 


850  EIS    SOMBRE    RIVALS 

"About  a  year  ago." 

"Have  we  been  abroad  ever  since?" 

"Yes,  and  you  have  been  steadily  improving.  You  were 
intrusted  to  my  care,  and  there  came  a  time  when  I  must 
either  be  faithful  to  that  trust,  or  place  you  in  the  hands 
of  strangers.  You  were  helpless,  dear  Grace." 

"Evidently, "  in  the  same  low,  constrained  tone.  "Could 
— could  you  not  have  fulfilled  your  trust  in  some  other 
way?" 

"Your  father,  your  second  mother,  and  your  physician 
thought  not." 

"Still — "  she  began,  hesitated,  and  again  came  that  deep, 
deep  flush. 

"For  your  sake,  Grace,  I  incurred  the  risk  of  this  awful 
moment." 

She  turned,  and  saw  an  expression  which  brought  tears 
to  her  eyes.  "I  cannot  misjudge  you,"  she  said  slowly; 
"the  past  forbids  that  But  I  cannot  understand  it,  I  can 
not  understand  it  at  all." 

"Perhaps  you  never  will,  dear  Grace;  I  took  that  risk 
also  to  save  your  life  and  mind. ' ' 

"My  mind?" 

"Yes,  your  mind.  If,  in  recalling  the  past,  the  memory 
of  which  has  returned,  you  can  preserve  sufficient  confidence 
in  me  to  wait  till  all  is  clear  and  explained,  I  shall  be  pro 
foundly  grateful.  I  foresaw  the  possibility  of  this  hour; 
I  foresaw  it  as  the  chief  danger  and  trial  of  my  life;  and  I 
took  the  risk  of  its  consequences  for  your  sake  because 
assured  by  the  highest  authority  that  it  was  your  one  chance 
for  escape,  not  from  death,  but  from  a  fate  worse  than  death, 
which  also  would  have  removed  you  from  my  care — indeed 
the  care  of  all  who  loved  you.  I  have  prepared  myself  for 
this  emergency  as  well  as  I  could.  Here  are  letters  from 
your  father,  Mrs.  May  burn,  Dr.  Markham,  and  Dr.  Armand, 
one  of  the  most  eminent  authorities  in  the  world  on  brain 
diseases.  But  after  all  I  must  be  judged  by  your  woman's 
heart,  and  so  stand  or  fall.  I  now  have  but  one  request,  or 


MARRIED    UNCONSCIOUSLY  351 

entreaty  rather,  to  make — that  you  do  not  let  all  the  efforts 
we  have  made  in  your  behalf  be  in  vain.  Can  you  not 
calmly  and  gradually  receive  the  whole  truth?  There  must 
be  no  more  relapses,  or  they  will  end  in  black  ruin  to  us 
all.  Now  that  you  can  think  for  yourself,  your  slightest 
wish  shall  be  my  law.  Jinny,  remain  with  your  mistress." 

He  lifted  her  passive  hand  to  his  lips,  passed  into  their 
little  parlor,  and  closed  the  door.  Grace  turned  to  her 
nurse,  and  in  low,  almost  passionate  utterance,  said:  "Now 
tell  me  all." 

"Lor'  bress  you,  Missy  Grace,  it  'ud  take  a  right  smart 
time  to  tell  yer  all.  When  de  big  doctors  an'  all  de  folks 
say  you'se  got  to  hab  strangers  take  care  ob  you  or  go  ter 
a  'sylum,  and  arter  all  you'd  git  wuss,  Mas'r  Graham  he 
guv  in,  and  said  he'd  take  care  ob  you,  and  dey  all  bress 
'im  and  tank  'im,  and  couldn't  say  'nuff.  Den  he  took  you 
'cross  de  big  ocean — golly !  how  big  it  be — jes'  as  de  doctor 
said;  an'  nebber  hab  I  seed  d  h  lub,  sich  'votion  in  a  moder 
as  Mas'r  Graham  hab  had  fer  you.  He  had  to  take  care  ob 
you  like  a  little  chile,  an'  he  was  teachin'  you  how  to  read 
like  a  little  chile  when,  all  on  a  suddint,  you  wakes  up  an' 
knows  ebryting  you'se  forgotten.  But  de  part  you  doesn't 
know  is  de  part  mos'  wuth  knowin'.  No  woman  eber  had 
sich  a  husban'  as  Mas'r  Graham,  an'  no  chile  sich  a  moder. 
'Clar'  ter  grashus  ef  I  b'lieve  he's  ebber  slep'  a  wink  wid 
his  watchin'  an'  a-tinkin'  what  he  could  do  fer  you." 

"But,  Jinny,  I'm  not  ill;  I  never  felt  stronger  in  my 
life." 

"Laws,  Missy  Grace,  dar's  been  a  mirackle.  You'se 
strong  'nuff  'cept  your  mine's  been  off  wisitin'  somewhar. 
Golly!  you  jes'  git  up  an'  let  me  dress  you,  an'  I'll  show 
yer  de  han'somest  woman  in  de  worl'.  All  yer's  got  ter  do 
now  is  jes'  be  sensible  like,  an'  yer  won't  have  yer  match." 

Grace  cast  an  apprehensive  look  toward  the  door  of  the 
parlor  in  which  was  her  husband,  and  then  said  hurriedly: 
"Yes,  dress  me  quick.  Oh,  heavens!  how  much  I  have  to 
think  about,  to  realize!" 


352  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

"Now,  honey  dear,  you  jes'  keep  cool.  Don't  go  an'  fly 
right  off  de  handle  agin,  or  Mas'r  Graham' 11  blow  his  brains 
out.  Good  Lor',  how  dat  man  do  look  sometimes!  An'  yet 
often,  when  he  was  pintin'  out  yer  letters  ter  yer,  or  showin' 
yer  pearty  tings,  like  as  you  was  a  chile,  he  look  so  happy 
and  gentle  like,  dat  I  say  he  jes'  like  a  moder." 

Grace  was  touched,  and  yet  deep,  deep  in  her  soul  she 
felt  that  a  wrong  had  been  done  her,  no  matter  what  had 
been  the  motives.  Jinny  had  no  such  fine  perceptions,  but 
with  a  feminine  tact  which  runs  down  through  the  lowliest 
natures,  she  chose  one  of  Grace's  quietest,  .yet  most  be 
coming  costumes,  and  would  not  let  her  go  to  the  glass  till 
arrayed  to  the  dusky  woman's  intense  satisfaction.  Then 
she  led  her  mistress  to  the  mirror  and  said:  "Look  dar, 
honey!  All  de  picters  you'se  eber  seen  can't  beat  dat!" 
and  Grace  gazed  long  and  fixedly  at  the  lovely  creature 
that  gazed  back  with  troubled  and  bewildered  eyes. 

"Was — was  1'like  that  wtnn — when  he  married  me?" 

"Yes,  an'  no,  honey.  You  only  look  like  a  picter  of  a 
woman  den — a  berry  pearty  picter,  but  nothin'  but  a  picter 
arter  all.  Mas'r  Graham  hab  brought  yer  ter  life." 

With  another  lingering,  wondering  glance  at  herself,  she 
turned  away  and  said:  "Leave  me,  now,  Jinny;  I  wish  to 
be  alone." 

The  woman  hesitated,  and  was  about  to  speak,  but  Grace 
waved  her  away  imperiously,  and  sat  down  to  the  letters 
Graham  had  given  her.  She  read  and  re-read  them.  They 
confirmed  his  words.  She  was  a  wife:  her  husband  awaited 
her  but  a  few  feet  away — her  husband,  and  she  had  never 
dreamed  of  marrying  again.  The  past  now  stood  out  lumin 
ous  to  her,  and  Warren  Hilland  was  its  centre.  But  another 
husband  awaited  her — one  whom  she  had  never  consciously 
promised  "to  love,  honor,  and  obey."  As  a  friend  she 
could  worship  him,  obey  him,  die  for  him;  but  as  her 
husband — how  could  she  sustain  that  mysterious  bond 
which  merges  one  life  in  another  ?  She  was  drawn  toward 
him  by  every  impulse  of  gratitude.  She  saw  that,  whether 


MARRIED    UNCONSCIOUSLY  353 

misled  or  not,  he  had  been  governed  by  the  best  of  motives 
— nay,  more,  by  the  spirit  of  self-sacrifice  in  its  extreme 
manifestation — that  he  had  been  made  to  believe  that  it  was 
her  only  chance  for  health  and  life.  Still,  in  her  deepest 
consciousness  he  was  but  Alford  Graham,  the  friend  most 
loved  and  trusted,  whom  she  had  known  in  her  far  distant 
home,  yet  not  her  husband.  How  could  she  go  to  him, 
what  could  she  say  to  him,  in  their  new  relations  that 
seemed  so  unreal  ? 

She  trembled  to  leave  him  longer  in  the  agony  of  sus 
pense;  but  her  limbs  refused  to  support  her,  and  her 
woman's  heart  shrank  with  a  strange  and  hitherto  un 
known  fear. 

There  was  a  timid  knock  at  the  door. 

"Come  in,  Alford,"  she  said,  tremblingly. 

H    stood  before  her  haggard,  pale,  and  expectant. 

"Alford,"  she  said,  sadly,  "why  did  you  not  let  me 
die?" 

"I  could  not,"  he  replied,  desperately.  "As  I  told  you, 
there  is  a  limit  to  every  man's  strength.  I  see  it  all  in  your 
face  and  manner — what  I  feared,  what  I  warned  Dr.  Mark- 
ham  against.  Listen  to  me.  I  shall  take  you  home  at  once. 
You  are  well.  You  will  not  require  my  further  care,  and 
you  need  never  see  my  face  again." 

"And  you,  Alford?"  she  faltered. 

"Do  not  ask  about  me.  Beyond  the  hour  when  I  place 
you  in  your  father's  arms  I  know  nothing.  I  have  reached 
my  limit.  I  have  made  the  last  sacrifice  of  which  I  am 
capable.  If  you  go  back  as  you  are  now,  you  are  saved 
from  a  fate  which  it  seemed  to  me  you  would  most  shrink 
from  could  you  know  it — the  coarse,  unfeeling  touch  and 
care  of  strangers  who  could  have  treated  you  in  your  help 
lessness  as  they  chose.  You  might  have  regained  your 
reason  years  hence,  only  to  find  that  those  who  loved  you 
were  broken-hearted,  lost,  gone.  They  are  now  well  and 
waiting  for  you.  Here  are  their  letters,  written  from  week 
to  week  and  breathing  hope  and  cheer.  Here  is  the  last  one 


354  HIS    SOMBRE    RIVALS 

from  your  father,  written  in  immediate  response  to  mine. 
In  it  he  says,  'My  hand  trembles,  but  it  is  more  from  joy 
than  age. '  You  were  gaining  steadily,  although  only  as  a 
child's  intelligence  develops.  He  writes,  'I  shall  have  my 
little  Grace  once  more,  and  see  her  mind  grow  up  into  her 
beautiful  form.'  ' 

She  bent  her  head  low  to  hide  the  tears  that  were  falling 
fast  as  she  faltered:  "Was  it  wholly  self-sacrifice  when  you 
married  me?" 

"Yes — in  the  fear  of  this  hour,  the  bitterest  of  my  life — 
yes.  It  has  followed  me  like  a  spectre  through  every  waking 
and  sleeping  hour.  Please  make  the  wide  distinction.  My 
care  for  you,  the  giving  up  of  my  life  for  you,  is  nothing. 
That  I  should  have  done  in  any  case,  as  far  as  I  could.  But 
with  my  knowledge  of  your  nature  and  your  past,  I  could 
not  seem  to  take  advantage  of  your  helplessness  without  an 
unspeakable  dread.  When  shown  by  the  best  human  skill 
that  I  could  thus  save  you,  or  at  least  ensure  that  you  would 
ever  have  gentle,  sympathetic  care,  I  resolved  to  risk  the 
last  extremity  of  evil  to  myself  for  your  sake.  Now  you 
have  the  whole  truth." 

She  rose  and  came  swiftly  to  him — for  he  had  scarcely 
entered  the  room  in  his  wish  to  show  her  respect — and  put 
ting  her  arm  around  his  neck,  while  she  laid  her  head  upon 
his  breast,  said  gently  and  firmly:  "The  sacrifice  shall  not 
be  all  on  your  side.  I  have  never  consciously  promised  to 
be  your  wife,  but  now,  as  far  as  my  poor  broken  spirit  will 
permit,  I  do  promise  it.  But  be  patient  with  me,  Alford. 
Do  not  expect  what  I  have  not  the  power  to  give.  I  can 
only  promise  that  all  there  is  left  of  poor  Grace  Hilland's 
heart — if  aught — shall  be  yours." 

Then  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  the  strong  man  gave 
way.  He  disengaged  her  so  hastily  as  to  seem  almost 
rough,  and  fell  forward  on  the  couch  unconscious.  The 
long  strain  of  years  had  culminated  in  the  hour  he  so 
dreaded,  and  in  the  sudden  revulsion  caused  by  her  words 
nature  gave  way. 


MARRIED    UNCONSCIOUSLY  355 

Almost  frantic  with  terror,  Grace  summoned  her  servant, 
and  help  from  the  people  of  the  inn.  Fortunately  an  excel 
lent  English  physician  was  stopping  at  the  same  house,  and 
he  was  speedily  at  work.  Graham  recovered,  only  to  pass 
into  muttering  delirium,  and  the  burden  of  his  one  sad 
refrain  was:  "If  she  should  never  forgive  me!" 

"Great  heavens,  madam!  what  has  he  done?"  asked  the 
matter-of-fact  Englishman. 

What  a  keen  probe  that  question  was  to  the  wife  as  she 
sat  watching  through  the  long,  weary  night!  In  an  agony 
of  self-reproach  she  recalled  all  that  he  had  done  for  her 
and  hers  in  all  the  years,  and  now  in  her  turn  she  entreated 
him  to  live;  but  he  was  as  unconscious  as  she  had  been  in 
the  blank  past.  No  wooing,  no  pleading,  could  have  been 
so  potent  as  his  unconscious  form,  his  strength  broken  at 
last  in  her  service. 

"O  God!"  she  cried — forgetting  in  her  anguish  that  she 
had  no  God — "have  I  been  more  cruel  than  all  the  war? 
Have  I  given  him  the  wound  that  shall  prove  fatal — him 
who  saved  Warren's  life,  my  own,  my  reason,  and  every 
thing  that  a  woman  holds  dear?" 

Graham's  powerful  and  unvitiated  nature  soon  rallied, 
however,  and  under  the  skilful  treatment  the  fever  within 
a  .few  days  gave  place  to  the  first  deep  happiness  he  had 
ever  known.  Grace  was  tender,  considerate,  her  own  former 
self,  and  with  something  sweeter  to  him  than  self-sacrifice 
in  her  eyes;  and  he  gave  himself  up  to  an  unspeakable 
content. 

It  was  she  who  wrote  the  home  letters  that  week,  and  a 
wondrous  tale  they  told  to  the  two  old  people,  who  subsisted 
on  foreign  news  even  more  than  on  Aunt  Sheba's  delicate 
cookery. 

Graham  was  soon  out  again,  but  he  looked  older  and 
more  broken  than  his  wife,  who  seemingly  had  passed  by 
age  into  a  bloom  that  could  not  fade.  She  decided  that  for 
his  sake  they  would  pass  the  winter  in  Italy,  and  that  he 
should  show  her  again  as  a  woman  what  he  had  tried  to  inter- 


856  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

est  her  in  as  a  child.  Her  happiness,  although  often  deeply 
shadowed,  grew  in  its  quiet  depths.  Graham  had  too  much 
tact  to  be  an  ardent  lover.  He  was  rather  her  stanch  friend, 
her  genial  but  most  considerate  companion.  His  powerful 
human  love  at  last  kindled  a  quiet  flame  on  the  hearth  of 
her  own  heart  that  had  so  long  been  cold,  and  her  life  was 
warmed  and  revived  by  it.  He  also  proved  in  picture  gal 
leries  and  cathedrals  that  he  had  seen  much  when  he  was 
abroad  beyond  wild  mountain  regions  and  wilder  people, 
and  her  mind,  seemingly  strengthened  by  its  long  sleep, 
followed  his  vigorous  criticism  with  daily  increasing 
zest 

The  soft,  sun-lighted  air  of  Italy  appeared  to  have  a 
healing  balm  for  both,  and  even  to  poor  Grace  there  came 
a  serenity  which  she  had  not  known  since  the  "cloud  in  the 
South"  first  cast  its  shadow  over  her  distant  hearth. 

To  Graham  at  last  there  had  come  a  respite  from  pain 
and  fear,  a  deep  content.  His  inner  life  had  been  too  im 
poverished,  and  his  nature  too  chastened  by  stern  and  bitter 
experience,  for  him  to  crave  gayety  and  exuberant  senti 
ment  in  his  wife.  Her  quiet  face,  in  which  now  was  the 
serenity  of  rest,  and  not  the  tranquillity  of  death  in  life, 
grew  daily  more  lovely  to  him;  and  he  was  not  without  his 
human  pride  as  he  saw  the  beauty- loving  Italians  look  won- 
deringly  at  her.  She  in  turn  was  pleased  to  observe  how  he 
impressed  cultivated  people  with  his  quiet  power,  with  a 
presence  that  such  varied  experiences  had  combined  to  cre 
ate.  Among  fine  minds,  men  and  women  are  more  truly 
felt  than  seen.  We  meet  people  of  the  plainest  appearance 
and  most  unostentatious  manner,  and  yet  without  effort  they 
compel  us  to  recognize  their  superiority,  while  those  who 
seek  to  impress  others  with  their  importance  are  known  at 
once  to  be  weak  and  insignificant. 

It  was  also  a  source  of  deep  gratification  to  Grace  that 
now,  since  her  husband  had  obtained  rest  of  mind,  he  turned 
naturally  to  healthful  business  interests.  Her  own  affairs, 
of  which  he  had  charge  in  connection  with  Hilland's  lawyer, 


MARRIED    UNCONSCIOUSLY  357 

were  looked  after  and  explained  fully  to  her;  and  his  solici 
tude  for  Henry  Anderson's  success  led  to  an  exchange  of 
letters  with  increasing  frequency.  Much  business  relating 
to  the  Virginia  plantation  was  transacted  on  the  shores  of 
the  Mediterranean. 

Grace  sought  to  quiet  her  compunctions  at  leaving  her 
father  and  Mrs.  Mayburn  so  long  by  frequent  letters  written 
in  her  dear  old  style,  by  cases  of  Italian  wines,  delicate  and 
rare;  exquisite  fabrics  of  the  loom,  and  articles  of  vertu  ; 
and  between  the  letters  and  the  gifts  the  old  people  held 
high  carnival  after  their  quaint  fashion  all  that  winter. 

The  soft  Italian  days  lapsed  one  after  another,  like 
bright  smiles  on  the  face  of  nature;  but  at  last  there  came 
one  on  which  Grace  leaned  her  head  upon  her  husband's 
shoulder  and  whispered,  "Alford,  take  me  home,  please." 

Had  he  cared  for  her  before,  when  she  was  as  helpless 
as  a  little  child?  Jinny,  in  recalling  that  journey  and  in 
dilating  on  the  wonders  of  her  experience  abroad,  by  which 
she  invariably  struck  awe  into  the  souls  of  Aunt  Sheba  and 
Iss,  would  roll  up  her  eyes,  and  turn  outward  the  palms  of 
her  hands,  as  she  exclaimed,  "Good  Lor',  you  niggers,  how 
I  make  you  'prehen'  Mas'r  Graham's  goin's  on  from  de 
night  he  sez,  sez  he  ter  me,  'Pack  up,  Jinny;  we'se  a-gwine 
straight  home.'  Iss  'dares  dat  Mas'r  Graham's  a  ter'ble 
soger  wid  his  long,  straight  sword  and  pistol,  an'  dat  he's 
laid  out  more  'Federates  dan  he  can  shake  a  stick  at.  Well, 
you'd  nebber  b'lieve  he'd  a  done  wuss  dan  say,  'flow  d'ye' 
to  a  'Federate  ef  yer'd  seen  how  he  'volved  roun'  Missy 
Grace.  He  wouldn't  let  de  sun  shine  on  her,  nor  de  win' 
blow  near  her,  and  eberybody  had  ter  git  right  up  an'  git 
ef  she  eben  wanted  ter  sneeze.  On  de  ship  he  had  ebery 
body,  from  de  cap'n  to  de  cabin-boys,  a  waitin'  on  her. 
Dey  all  said  we  hab  a  mighty  quiet  v'yage,  but  Lor'  bress 
yer!  it  was  all  'long  ob  Mas'r  Graham.  He  wouldn't  let 
no  wabes  run  ter  pitch  his  darlin'  roun'.  Missy  Grace,  she 
used  ter  sit  an'  larf  an'  larf  at  'im — bress  her  dear  heart,  how 
much  good  it  do  me  to  hear  de  honey  larf  like  her  ole  dear 


858  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

self!     Her  moder  used  ter  be  mighty  keerful  on  her,  but 
'twan't  nothin'  'pared  ter  Mas'r  Graham's  goin's  on." 

Jinny  had  never  heard  of  Baron  Munchausen,  but  her 
accounts  of  foreign  experiences  and  scenes  were  much  after 
the  type  of  that  famous  raconteur  ;  and  by  each  repetition 
her  stories  seemed  to  make  a  portentous  growth.  There 
was,  however,  a  residuum  of  truth  in  all  her  marvels.  The 
event  which  she  so  vaguely  foreshadowed  by  ever- increasing 
clouds  of  words  took  place.  In  June,  when  the  nests  around 
the  cottage  were  full  of  little  birds,  there  was  also,  in  a 
downy,  nestlike  cradle,  a  miniature  of  sweet  Grace  Graham; 
and  Jinny  thenceforth  was  the  oracle  of  the  kitchen. 


RITA    ANDERSON  359 


CHAPTER  XL 

RITA     ANDER  SON 

THE  belief  of  children  that  babies  are  brought  from 
heaven  seems  often  verified  by  the  experiences  that 
follow  their  advent.  And  truly  the  baby  at  the  St. 
John  cottage  was  a  heavenly  gift,  even  to  the  crotchety  old 
major,  whom  it  kept  awake  at  night  by  its  unseasonable 
complaints  of  the  evils  which  it  encountered  in  spite  of 
Grandma  Mayburn,  faithful  old  Aunt  Sheba,  who  pleaded 
to  be  its  nurse,  and  the  gentle  mother,  who  bent  over  it 
with  a  tenderness  new  and  strange  even  to  her  heart. 

She  could  laugh  now,  and  laugh  she  would,  when  Gra 
ham,  with  a  trepidation  never  felt  in  battle,  took  the  tiny 
morsel  of  humanity,  and  paraded  up  and  down  the  library. 
Lying  back  on  the  sofa  in  one  of  her  dainty  wrappers,  she 
would  cry,  "Look  at  him,  papa;  look  at  that  grim  cavalry 
man,  and  think  of  his  leading  a  charge  I' ' 

"Well,  Gracie,  dear,"  the  old  major  would  reply,  chuck 
ling  at  his  well-worn  joke,  "the  colonel  was  only  a  cavalry 
man,  you  know.  He's  not  up  in  infantry  tactics." 

One  morning  Grandma  Mayburn  opened  a  high  conclave 
in  regard  to  the  baby's  name,  and  sought  to  settle  the  ques 
tion  in  advance  by  saying,  "Of  course  it  should  be  Grace." 

"Indeed,  madam,"  differed  the  major,  gallantly,  "I  think 
it  should  be  named  after  its  grandmother." 

Grace  lifted  her  eyes  inquiringly  to  her  husband,  who 
stood  regarding  what  to  him  was  the  Madonna  and  child. 

"I  have  already  named  her,"  he  said,  quietly. 

"You,  you!"  cried  his  aunt,  brusquely.     "I'd  have  you 


360  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

know  that  this  is  an  affair  for  grave  and  general  delibera 
tion.  ' ' 

"Alford  shall  have  his  way,"  said  the  mother,  with 
quiet  emphasis,  looking  down  at  the  child,  while  pride  and 
tenderness  blended  sweetly  in  her  face. 

"Her  name  is  Hilda,  in  memory  of  the  noblest  man  and 
dearest  friend  I  have  ever  known. ' ' 

Instantly  she  raised  her  eyes,  brimming  with  tears,  to 
his,  and  faltered,  "Thank  you,  Alford";  and  she  clasped 
the  child  almost  convulsively  to  her  breast,  proving  that 
there  was  one  love  which  no  other  could  obliterate. 

"That's  right,  dear  Grace.  Link  her  name  with  the 
memory  of  Warren.  She  will  thus  make  you  happier,  and 
it's  my  wish." 

The  conclave  ended  at  once.  The  old  major  took  off  his 
spectacles  to  wipe  his  eyes,  and  Mrs.  Mayburn  stole  away. 

From  that  hour  little  Hilda  pushed  sorrow  from  Grace's 
heart  with  her  baby  hands,  as  nothing  had  ever  done  before, 
and  the  memory  of  the  lost  husband  ceased  to  be  a  shadow 
in  the  background.  The  innocent  young  life  was  associated 
with  his,  and  loved  the  more  intensely. 

Graham  had  spoken  from  the  impulse  of  a  generous 
nature,  too  large  to  feel  the  miserable  jealousies  that  infest 
some  minds;  but  he  had  spoken  more  wisely  than  he  knew. 
Thereafter  there  was  a  tenderness  in  Grace's  manner  toward 
him  which  he  had  never  recognized  before.  He  tasted  a 
happiness  of  which  he  had  never  dreamed,  alloyed  only  by 
the  thought  that  his  treasures  were  mortal  and  frail.  But 
as  the  little  one  thrived,  and  his  wife  bloomed  into  the  most 
exquisite  beauty  seen  in  this  world,  that  of  young  and  happy 
motherhood,  he  gave  himself  up  to  his  deep  content,  believ 
ing  that  fate  at  last  was  appeased.  The  major  grew  even 
hilarious,  and  had  his  morning  and  evening  parades,  as  he 
called  them,  when  the  baby,  in  its  laces  and  soft  draperies, 
was  brought  for  his  inspection.  Mrs.  Mayburn,  with  all 
the  accumulated  maternal  yearnings  of  her  heart  satisfied, 
would  preside  at  the  ceremony.  Grace,  happy  and  proud, 


RITA    ANDERSON  361 

would  nod  and  srnile  over  her  shoulder  at  her  husband,  who 
made  a  poor  pretence  of  reading  his  paper,  while  the  old  vet 
eran  deliberately  adjusted  his  spectacles  and  made  comments 
that  in  their  solemn  drollery  and  military  jargon  were  irre 
sistible  to  the  household  that  could  now  laugh  so  easily. 
The  young  life  that  had  come  had  brought  a  new  life  to 
them  all,  and  the  dark  shadows  of  the  past  shrank  further 
and  further  into  the  background. 

But  they  were  there — all  the  sad  mysteries  of  evil  that 
had  crushed  the  mother's  heart.  Once  they  seemed  to  rush 
forward  and  close  around  her.  Little  Hilda  was  ill  and 
Grace  in  terror.  But  Dr.  Markham  speedily  satisfied  her 
that  it  was  a  trivial  matter,  and  proved  it  to  be  so  by  his 
remedies.  The  impression  of  danger  remained,  however, 
and  she  clung  to  her  little  idol  more  closely  than  ever;  and 
this  was  true  of  all. 

Time  sped  tranquilly  on.  Hilda  grew  in  endearing  ways, 
and  began  to  have  knowing  looks  and  smiles  for  each.  Her 
preference  for  her  grandfather  with  his  great  frosty  eyebrows 
pleased  the  old  gentleman  immensely.  It  was  both  droll 
and  touching  to  observe  how  one  often  so  irascible  would 
patiently  let  her  take  off  his  spectacles,  toy  with  and  often 
pull  his  gray  locks,  and  rumple  his  old-fashioned  ruffles, 
which  he  persisted  in  wearing  on  state  occasions.  It  was 
also  silently  noted  that  the  veteran  never  even  verged  to 
ward  profanity  in  the  presence  of  the  child. 

Each  new  token  of  intelligence  was  hailed  with  a  delight 
of  which  natures  coarse  or  blunted  never  know.  The  Wise 
Men  of  old  worshipped  the  Babe  in  the  manger,  and  sadly 
defective  or  perverted  in  their  organizations  are  those  who 
do  not  see  something  divine  in  a  little  innocent  child. 

Henry  and  Eita  Anderson,  at  the  urgent  solicitation  of 
Graham  and  his  wife,  came  on  in  the  autumn  to  make  a 
visit,  and,  by  a  very  strange  coincidence,  Graham's  favorite 
captain,  a  manly,  prosperous  fellow,  happened  to  be  visit 
ing  him  at  the  time.  By  a  still  more  remarkable  conjunc 
tion  of  events,  he  at  once  shared  in  his  former  colonel's 
P—EOE— XIII 


362  HIS    SOMBRE   RIVALS 

admiration  of  the  dark-eyed  Southern  girl.  She  was  very 
shy,  distant,  and  observant  at  first,  for  this  fortuitous  cap 
tain  was  a  Northerner.  But  the  atmosphere  of  the  two  cot 
tages  was  not  in  the  least  conducive  to  coolness  and  reserve. 
The  wood  fires  that  crackled  on  the  hearth,  or  something 
else,  thawed  perceptibly  the  spirited  girl.  Moreover,  there 
were  walks,  drives,  horseback  excursions,  daily;  and  Iss 
shone  forth  in  a  glory  of  which  he  had  never  dreamed  as  a 
plantation  hand.  There  were  light  steps  passing  to  and  fro, 
light  laughter,  cheery,  hearty  voices — in  which  the  baby's 
crowing  and  cooing  were  heard  as  a  low,  sweet  chord — 
music  and  whist  to  the  major's  infinite  content.  The  shad 
ows  shrank  further  into  the  background  than  ever  before. 
No  one  thought  of  or  heeded  them  now;  but  they  were 
there,  cowering  and  waiting. 

Only  Aunt  Sheba  was  ill  at  ease.  Crooning  her  quaint 
lullabies  to  the  baby,  she  would  often  lift  her  eyes  to  heaven 
and  sigh,  "De  good  Lord  hab  marcy  on  dem!  Dey's  all  a 
drinkin'  at  de  little  shaller  pools  dat  may  dry  up  any 
minit.  It's  all  ob  de  earth;  it's  all  ob  tings,  nothin'  but 
tings  which  de  eyes  can  see  and  de  han's  can  touch.  De 
good  Lord  lift  dar  eyes  from  de  earth  widout  takin'  dat 
mos'  dear!" 

But  no  one  thought  of  old  Aunt  Sheba  except  as  a  faith 
ful  creature  born  to  serve  them  in  her  humble  way. 

The  Northern  captain  soon  proved  that  he  had  not  a  little 
Southern  dash  and  ardor,  and  he  had  already  discovered  that 
his  accidental  visit  to  Graham  was  quite  providential,  as  he 
had  been  taught  to  regard  events  that  promised  favorably. 
He  very  significantly  asked  Colonel  Anderson  to  take  a  gal 
lop  with  him  one  morning,  but  they  had  not  galloped  far  be 
fore  he  halted  and  plumply  asked  the  brother's  permission, 
as  the  present  representative  of  her  father,  to  pay  his  ad 
dresses  to  Rita.  Now  Captain  Windom  had  made  a  good 
impression  on  the  colonel,  which  Graham,  in  a  very  casual 
way,  had  been  at  pains  to  strengthen;  and  he  came  back 
radiant  over  one  point  gained.  But  he  was  more  afraid  of 


RITA    ANDERSON  363 

that  little  Virginian  girl  than  he  had  ever  been  of  all  her 
Southern  compatriots.  He  felt  that  he  must  forego  his 
cavalry  tactics  and  open  a  regular  siege;  but  she,  with  one 
flash  of  her  mirthful  eyes,  saw  through  it  all,  laughed  over 
it  with  Grace,  whom  from  worshipping  as  a  saint  she  now 
loved  as  a  sister.  Amid  the  pauses  in  their  mutual  worship 
of  the  baby,  they  talked  the  captain  over  in  a  way  that 
would  have  made  his  ears  tingle  could  he  have  heard 
them;  but  Grace,  underneath  all  her  good-natured  criti 
cism,  seconded  her  husband's  efforts  with  a  mature  wo 
man's  tact.  Rita  should  be  made  happy  in  spite  of  all  her 
little  perversities  and  Southern  prejudices,  and  yet  the 
hands  that  guided  and  helped  her  should  not  be  seen. 

The  captain  soon  abandoned  his  siege  tactics,  in  which 
he  was  ill  at  ease,  and  resumed  his  old  habit  of  impetuous 
advances  in  which  Graham  had  trained  him.  Time  was 
growing  short.  His  visit  and  hers  would  soon  be  over. 
He  became  so  downright  and  desperately  in  earnest  that 
the  little  girl  began  to  be  frightened.  It  was  no  laughing 
matter  now,  and  Grace  looked  grave  over  the  affair.  Then 
Rita  began  to  be  very  sorry  for  him,  and  at  last,  through 
Graham's  unwonted  awkwardness  and  inattention  to  his 
guests,  the  captain  and  Rita  were  permitted  to  take  a  dif 
ferent  road  from  the  others  on  an  equestrian  party.  When 
they  appeared  the  captain  looked  as  if  he  were  returning 
from  a  successful  charge,  and  Rita  was  as  shy  and  blush 
ing  as  one  of  the  wild  roses  of  her  native  hills.  She  fled  to 
Grace's  room,  as  if  it  were  the  only  refuge  left  in  the  world, 
and  her  first  breathless  words  were:  "I  haven't  promised 
anything — that  is,  nothing  definite.  I  said  he  might  come 
and  see  me  in  Virginia  and  talk  to  papa  about  it,  and  I'd 
think  it  over,  and — and —  Well,  he  was  so  impetuous  and 
earnest!  Good  heavens!  I  thought  the  Northern  people 
were  cold,  but  that  captain  fairly  took  away  my  breath. 
You  never  heard  a  man  talk  so." 

Grace  had  put  down  the  baby,  and  now  stood  with  her 
arm  around  her  friend,  smiling  the  sweetest  encouragement. 


364  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

"I'll  explain  it  all  to  you,  Miss  Rita, "  began  Graham's 
deep  voice,  as  he  advanced  from  a  recess. 

"Oh,  the  powers!  are  you  here?"  and  she  started  back 
and  looked  at  him  with  dismay. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "and  I  merely  wished  to  explain  that 
my  friend  Windom  was  in  the  cavalry,  and  from  much 
fighting  with  your  brave,  impetuous  hard-riders  we  grad 
ually  fell  into  their  habits." 

"I  half  believe  that  you  are  laughing  at  me — that  you 
are  in  league  with  him,  and  have  been  all  along." 

"Yes,  Eita,  noble  little  woman,  truest  friend  at  the  time 
of  my  bitter  need,  I  am  in  league  with  any  man  worthy  of 
you — that  is,  as  far  as  a  man  can  be  who  seeks  to  make  you 
happy;"  and  he  took  her  hand  and  held  it  warmly. 

"Here  come  my  silly  tears  again,"  and  she  dashed  them 
to  right  and  left.  Then,  looking  up  at  him  shyly,  she  fal 
tered,  "I  must  admit  that  I'm  a  little  bit  happy." 

"I  vowed  you  should  be,  all  through  that  dark  ride  on 
which  you  led  me  away  from  cruel  enemies;  and  every 
flower  you  have  placed  on  the  grave  of  that  noble  man  that 
Grace  and  I  both  loved  has  added  strength  to  my  vow." 

"Oh,  Rita,  Rita,  darling!"  cried  Grace,  clasping  her  in 
close  embrace;  "do  you  think  we  ever  forget  it?" 

"Can  you  think,  Rita,  that  in  memory  of  that  never-to- 
be-forgotten  day  I  would  give  Captain  Windom  the  oppor 
tunities  he  has  enjoyed  if  I  did  not  think  he  would  make 
you  happy  ?  One  cannot  live  and  fight  side  by  side  with  a 
man  for  years  and  not  know  his  mettle.  He  was  lion- like 
in  battle,  but  he  will  ever  be  gentleness  itself  toward  you. 
Best  of  all,  he  will  appreciate  you,  and  I  should  feel  like 
choking  any  fellow  who  didn't." 

"But  indeed,  indeed,  I  haven't  promised  anything;  I 
only  said — " 

"No  matter  what  you  said,  my  dear,  so  long  as  the  cap 
tain  knows.  We  are  well  assured  that  your  every  word 
and  thought  and  act  were  true  and  maidenly.  Let  Win 
dom  visit  you  and  become  acquainted  with  your  father. 


RITA    ANDERSON  365 

The  more  you  all  see  of  him  the  more  you  will  respect 
him." 

"You  are  wonderfully  reassuring,"  said  the  young  girl, 
"and  I  learned  to  trust  you  long  ago.  Indeed,  after  your 
course  toward  Henry,  I  believe  I'd  marry  any  one  you  told 
me  to.  But  to  tell  the  truth,  I  have  felt,  for  the  last  few 
hours,  as  if  caught  up  by  a  whirlwind  and  landed  I  don't 
know  where.  No  one  ever  need  talk  to  me  any  more  about 
cold-blooded  Northerners.  Well,  I  must  land  at  the  din 
ner-table  before  long,  and  so  must  go  and  dress.  It's  proper 
to  eat  under  the  circumstances,  isn't  it?" 

"I  expect  to,"  said  Graham,  laughing,  "and  I'm  more  in 
love  than  you  are." 

"Little  wonder  1"  with  a  glance  of  ardent  admiration 
toward  Grace,  and  she  whisked  out.  In  a  moment  she  re 
turned  and  said,  "Now,  Colonel,  I  must  be  honest,  espe 
cially  as  I  think  of  your  vow  in  the  dark  woods.  I  am 
very,  very  happy;"  and  then  in  a  meteoric  brilliancy  of 
smiles,  tears,  and  excitement,  she  vanished. 

On  the  day  following  Captain  Windom  marched  tri 
umphantly  away,  and  his  absence  proved  to  Rita  that  the 
question  was  settled,  no  matter  what  she  had  said  when 
having  little  breath  left  to  say  anything. 

She  and  her  brother  followed  speedily,  and  Graham  ac 
companied  them,  to  superintend  in  person  the  setting  up  of 
a  beautiful  marble  column  which  he  and  Grace  had  designed 
for  Hi  Hand's  grave. 

It  was  a  time  of  sad,  yet  chastened,  memories  to  both.  In 
their  consciousness  Hilland  had  ceased  to  exist.  He  was 
but  a  memory,  cherished  indeed  with  an  indescribable  honor 
and  love — still  only  a  memory.  There  was  an  immense  dif 
ference,  however,  in  the  thoughts  of  each  as  they  reverted 
to  his  distant  grave.  Graham  felt  that  he  had  there  closed 
a  chapter  of  his  life — a  chapter  that  he  would  ever  recall 
with  the  deep  melancholy  that  often  broods  in  the  hearts  of 
the  happiest  of  men  whose  natures  are  large  enough  to  be 
truly  impressed  by  life's  vicissitudes.  Grace  knew  that  her 


866  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

girlhood,  her  former  self,  was  buried  in  that  grave,  and 
with  her  early  lover  had  vanished  forever.  Graham  had, 
in  a  sense,  raised  her  from  the  dead.  His  boundless  love 
and  self-sacrifice,  his  indomitable  will,  had  created  for  her 
new  life,  different  from  the  old,  yet  full  of  tranquil  joys, 
new  hopes  and  interests.  He  had  not  rent  the  new  from 
the  old,  but  had  bridged  with  generous  acts  the  existing 
chasm.  He  was  doing  all  within  his  power,  not  jealously 
to  withdraw  her  thoughts  from  that  terrible  past,  but  to 
veil  its  more  cruel  and  repulsive  features  with  flowers, 
laurel  wreaths,  and  sculptured  marble;  and  in  her  heart, 
which  had  been  dead,  but  into  which  his  love  had  breathed 
a  new  life,  she  daily  blessed  him  with  a  deeper  affection. 

He  soon  returned  to  her  from  Virginia,  and  by  his  vivid 
descriptions  made  real  to  her  the  scenes  he  had  visited.  He 
told  her  how  Kita  and  her  brother  had  changed  the  plot  in 
which  slept  the  National  and  the  Confederate  officer  into  a 
little  garden  of  blossoming  greenery;  how  he  had  arranged 
with  Colonel  Anderson  to  place  a  fitting  monument  over  the 
young  Confederate  officer,  whose  friends  had  been  impover 
ished  by  the  war;  and  he  kissed  away  the  tears,  no  longer 
bitter  and  despairing,  evoked  by  the  memories  his  words  re 
called.  Then,  in  lighter  vein,  he  described  the  sudden  ad 
vent  of  the  impetuous  captain;  the  consternation  of  the  little 
housekeeper,  who  was  not  expecting  him  so  soon ;  her  efforts 
to  improvise  a  feast  for  the  man  who  would  blissfully  swal 
low  half-baked  "pones"  if  served  by  her;  her  shy  presenta 
tion  of  her  lover  to  the  venerable  clergyman,  which  he  and 
Henry  had  witnessed  on  the  veranda  through  the  half-closed 
blinds,  and  the  fond  old  man's  immense  surprise  that  his 
little  Kita  should  have  a  lover  at  all. 

"  'My  dear  sir,'  he  said,  'this  is  all  very  premature.  You 
must  wait  for  the  child  to  grow  up  before  imbuing  her  mind 
with  thoughts  beyond  her  years.' 

"  'My  dear  Dr.  Anderson,'  had  pleaded  the  adroit  Win- 
dom,  'I  will  wait  indefinitely,  and  submit  to  any  conditions 
that  you  and  Miss  Kita  impose.  If  already  she  has  im- 


RITA    ANDERSON 

pressed  me  so  deeply,  time  can  only  increase  my  respect, 
admiration,  and  affection,  if  that  were  possible.  Before 
making  a  single  effort  to  win  your  daughter's  regard,  I 
asked  permission  of  her  brother,  since  you  were  so  far 
away.  I  have  not  sought  to  bind  her,  but  have  only  re 
vealed  the  deep  feeling  which  she  has  inspired,  and  I  now 
come  to  ask  your  sanction  also  to  my  addresses.' 

11  'Your  conduct,'  replied  the  old  gentleman,  unbending 
urbanely  toward  the  young  man,  'is  both  honorable  and 
considerate.  Of  course  you  know  that  my  child's  happi 
ness  is  my  chief  solicitude.  If,  after  several  years,  when 
Eita's  mind  has  grown  more  mature,  her  judgment  con 
firms — ' 

"Here  Rita  made  a  little  moue  which  only  her  red  lips 
could  form,  and  Henry  and  I  took  refuge  in  a  silent  and 
precipitate  retreat,  lest  our  irreverent  mirth  should  offend 
the  blind  old  father,  to  whom  Eita  is  his  little  Bita  still. 
You  know  well  how  many  years,  months  rather,  Windom 
will  wait. 

"Well,  I  left  the  little  girl  happier  than  the  day  was 
long,  for  I  believe  her  eyes  sparkle  all  through  the  night 
under  their  long  lashes.  As  for  Windom,  he  is  in  the 
seventh  heaven.  'My  latest  campaign  in  Virginia,'  he 
whispered  to  me  as  I  was  about  to  ride  away;  'good  pros 
pects  of  the  best  capture  yet  won  from  the  Confederacy. '  ' 

And  so  he  made  the  place  familiar  to  her,  with  its  high 
lights  and  deep  shadows,  and  its  characters  real,  even  down 
to  old  Jehu  and  his  son  Huey. 


368  HIS    SOMBRE    RIVALS 


CHAPTER   XLI 

A   LITTLE   CHILD   SHALL   LEAD  THEM 

AUTUMN  merged  imperceptibly  into  winter,  and  the 
days  sped  tranquilly  on.  With  the  exception  of 
brief  absences  on  business,  Graham  was  mostly  at 
home,  for  there  was  no  place  like  his  own  hearth.  His 
heart,  so  long  denied  happiness,  was  content  only  at  the 
side  of  his  wife  and  child.  The  shadows  of  the  past  crouched 
further  away  than  ever,  but  even  their  own  health  and  pros 
perity,  their  happiness,  and  the  reflected  happiness  of  others 
could  not  banish  them  wholly.  The  lights  which  burned  so 
brightly  around  them,  like  the  tire  on  their  hearth,  had  been 
kindled  and  were  fed  by  human  hands  only,  and  were  ever 
liable  to  die  out.  The  fuel  that  kept  them  burning  was  the 
best  that  earth  afforded,  but  the  supply  had  its  inherent 
limitations.  Each  new  tranquil  day  increased  the  habitual 
sense  of  security.  Graham  was  busy  with  plans  of  a  large 
agricultural  enterprise  in  Virginia.  The  more  he  saw  of 
Henry  Anderson  the  more  he  appreciated  his  sterling  in 
tegrity  and  fine  business  capabilities,  and  from  being  an 
agent  he  had  become  a  partner.  Grace's  writing-desk,  at 
which  Graham  had  cast  a  wistful  glance  the  first  time 
he  had  seen  it,  was  often  covered  with  maps  of  the  Virginia 
plantation,  which  he  proposed  to  develop  into  its  best 
capabilities.  Grace  had  a  cradle  by  the  library  fire  as  well 
as  in  her  room.  Beside  this  the  adopted  grandmother 
knitted  placidly,  and  the  major  rustled  his  paper  softly  lest 
he  should  waken  the  little  sleeper.  Grace,  who  persisted  in 
making  all  of  her  little  one's  dainty  plumage  herself,  would 
lift  her  eyes  from  time  to  time,  full  of  genuine  interest  in 


A    LITTLE    CHILD   SHALL    LEAD    THEM  369 

his  projects  and  in  his  plans  for  a  dwelling  on  the  planta 
tion,  which  should  be  built  according  to  her  taste  and  con 
structed  for  her  convenience. 

The  shadows  had  never  been  further  away.  Even  old 
Aunt  Sheba  was  lulled  into  security.  Into  her  bereaved 
heart,  as  into  the  hearts  of  all  the  others,  the  baby  crept; 
and  she  grew  so  bewitching  with  her  winsome  ways,  so 
absorbing  in  her  many  little  wants  and  her  need  of  watch 
ing,  as  with  the  dawning  spirit  of  curiosity  she  sought  to 
explore  for  herself  what  was  beyond  the  cradle  and  the 
door,  that  Aunt  Sheba,  with  the  doting  mother,  thought  of 
Hilda  during  ail  waking  hours  and  dreamed  of  her  in  sleep. 

At  last  the  inconstant  New  England  spring  passed  away, 
and  June  came  with  its  ever-new  heritage  of  beauty.  The 
baby's  birthday  was  to  be  the  grand  fete  of  the  year,  and 
the  little  creature  seemed  to  enter  into  the  spirit  of  the  oc 
casion.  She  could  now  call  her  parents  and  grandparents 
by  name,  and  talk  to  them  in  her  pretty  though  senseless 
jargon,  which  was  to  them  more  precious  than  the  wisdom 
of  Solomon. 

It  was  a  day  of  roses  and  rose-colors.  Eoses  banked  the 
mantelpieces,  wreathed  the  cradle,  crowned  the  table  at 
which  Hilda  sat  in  state  in  her  high  chair,  a  fairy  form  in 
gossamer  laces,  with  dark  eyes — Grace's  eyes — that  danced 
with  the  unrestrained  delight  of  a  child. 

"She  looks  just  like  my  little  Grace  of  long,  long  years 
ago,"  said  the  major,  with  wistful  eyes;  "and  yet,  Colonel, 
it  seems  but  yesterday  that  your  wife  was  the  image  of  that 
laughing  little  witch  yonder. " 

"Well,  I  can  believe,"  admitted  Grandma  Mayburn, 
"that  Grace  was  as  pretty — a  tremendous  compliment  to 
you,  Grace — but  there  never  was  and  never  will  be  another 
baby  as  pretty  and  cunning  as  our  Hilda. ' ' 

The  good  old  lady  never  spoke  of  the  child  as  Grace's 
baby.  It  was  always  "ours."  In  Graham,  Grace,  and 
especially  Hilda,  she  had  her  children  about  her,  and  the 
mother-need  in  her  heart  was  satisfied. 


870  HIS    SOMBRE    RIVALS 

"Yes,  Hilda  darling,"  said  the  colonel,  with  fond  eyes, 
"you  have  begun  well.  You  could  not  please  me  more  than 
by  looking  like  your  mother;  the  next  thing  is  to  grow 
like  her." 

"Poor  blind  papa,  with  the  perpetual  glamour  on  his 
eyes!  He  will  never  see  his  old  white-haired  wife  as 
she  is." 

He  looked  at  her  almost  perfect  features  with  the  bloom 
of  health  upon  them,  into  her  dark  eyes  with  their  depths  of 
motherly  pride  and  joy,  at  her  snowy  neck  and  ivory  arms 
bare  to  the  summer  heat,  and  longest  at  the  wavy  silver  of 
her  hair,  that  crowned  her  beauty  with  an  almost  super 
natural  charm. 

"Don't  I  see  you  as  you  are,  Grace  ?"  he  said.  "Well, 
I  am  often  spellbound  by  what  I  do  see.  If  Hilda  becomes 
like  you,  excepting  your  sorrows,  my  dearest  wish  in  her 
behalf  will  be  fulfilled." 

Old  Aunt  Sheba,  standing  behind  the  baby's  chair,  felt 
a  chill  at  heart  as  she  thought:  "Dey'se  all  a-worshippin' 
de  chile  and  each  oder.  I  sees  it  so  plain  dat  I'se  all  ob 
a- tremble. " 

Surely  the  dark  shadows  of  the  past  have  no  place  near 
that  birthday  feast,  but  they  are  coming  nearer,  closing  in, 
remorseless,  relentless  as  ever,  and  among  them  are  the 
gloomy  rivals  against  whom  Graham  struggled  so  long. 
He  thought  he  had  vanquished  them,  but  they  are  stealing 
upon  him  again  like  vindictive,  unforgiving  savages. 

There  was  a  jar  of  thunder  upon  the  still  air,  but  it  was 
not  heeded.  The  room  began  to  darken,  but  they  thought 
only  of  a  shower  that  would  banish  the  sultriness  of  the 
day.  Darker  shadows  than  those  of  thunder-clouds  were 
falling  upon  them,  had  they  known  it. 

The  wine  was  brought,  and  the  health  of  the  baby 
drank.  Then  Graham,  ordering  all  glasses  to  be  filled,  said 
reverently:  "To  the  memory  of  Warren  Hilland!  May  the 
child  who  is  named  for  him  ever -remind  us  of  his  noble 
life  and  heroic  death." 


A    LITTLE    CHILD    SHALL    LEAD    THEM  371 

They  drank  in  silence,  then  put  down  the  glasses  and  sat 
for  moments  with  bowed  heads,  Grace's  tears  falling  softly. 
Without,  nature  seemed  equally  hushed.  Not  a  breath 
stirred  the  sultry  air,  until  at  last  a  heavier  and  nearer  jar 
of  thunder  vibrated  in  the  distance. 

The  unseen  shadows  are  closing  around  the  little  Hilda, 
whose  eyelids  are  heavy  with  satiety.  Aunt  Sheba  is  about 
to  take  her  from  her  chair,  when  a  swift  gust,  cold  and 
spray-laden,  rushes  through  the  house,  crushing  to  the  doors 
and  whirling  all  light  articles  into  a  carnival  of  disorder. 

The  little  gossamer-clad  girl  shivered,  and,  while  others 
hastily  closed  windows,  Grace  ran  for  a  shawl  in  which  to 
wrap  her  darling. 

The  shower  passed,  bringing  welcome  coolness.  Hilda 
slept  quietly  through  its  turmoil  and  swishing  torrents — 
slept  on  into  the  twilight,  until  Aunt  Sheba  seemed  a 
shadow  herself.  But  there  were  darker  shadows  brooding 
over  her. 

Suddenly,  in  her  sleep,  the  child  gave  an  ominous  bark 
ing  cough. 

"Oh,  de  good  Lor'!"  cried  Aunt  Sheba,  springing  to 
her  feet.  Then  with  a  swiftness  in  which  there  was  no  sign 
of  age,  she  went  to  the  landing  and  called,  "Mas'r  Graham." 

Grace  was  in  the  room  before  him.  "What  is  it?"  she 
asked  breathlessly. 

"Well,  Missy  Grace,  don't  be  'larmed,  but  I  tinks  Mas'r 
Graham  'ud  better  sen'  for  de  doctor,  jes'  for  caution  like." 

Again  came  that  peculiar  cough,  terror-inspiring  to  all 
mothers. 

"Alford,  Alford,  lose  not  a  moment!"  she  cried.  "It's 
the  croup." 

The  soldier  acted  as  if  his  camp  were  attacked  at  mid 
night.  There  were  swift  feet,  the  trampling  of  a  horse;  and 
soon  the  skill  of  science,  the  experience  of  age,  and  motherly 
tenderness  confronted  the  black  shadows,  but  they  remained 
immovable. 

The  child  gasped  and  struggled  for  life.     Grace,  half 


372  BIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

frantic,  followed  the  doctor's  directions  with  trembling 
hands,  seeking  to  do  everything  for  her  idol  herself  as  far 
as  possible.  Mrs.  Mayburn,  gray,  grim,  with  face  of  ashen 
hue,  hovered  near  and  assisted.  Aunt  Sheba,  praying  often 
audibly,  proved  by  her  deft  hands  that  the  experience  of 
her  long-past  motherhood  was  of  service  now.  The  servants 
gathered  at  the  door,  eager  and  impatient  to  do  something 
for  "de  bressed  chile."  The  poor  old  major  thumped  rest 
lessly  back  and  forth  on  his  crutches  in  the  hall  below,  half 
swearing,  half  praying.  Dr.  Markham,  pale  with  anxiety, 
but  cool  and  collected  as  a  veteran  general  in  battle,  put 
forth  his  whole  skill  to  baffle  the  destroyer.  Graham,  stand 
ing  in  the  background  with  clenched  hands,  more  excited, 
more  desperate  than  he  had  ever  been  when  sitting  on  his 
horse  waiting  for  the  bugle  to  sound  the  charge,  watched 
his  wife  and  child  with  eyes  that  burned  in  the  intensity  of 
his  feeling. 

Time,  of  which  no  notice  was  taken,  passed,  although 
moments  seemed  like  hours.  The  child  still  struggled  and 
gasped,  but  more  and  more  feebly.  At  last,  in  the  dawn, 
the  little  Hilda  lay  still,  looked  up  and  smiled.  Was  it  at 
her  mother's  face,  or  something  beyond  ? 

"She  is  better,"  cried  Grace,  turning  her  imploring  eyes 
to  the  physician,  who  held  the  little  hand. 

Alas!  it  was  growing  cold  in  his.  He  turned  quickly 
to  Graham  and  whispered:  "Support  your  wife.  The  end 
is  near." 

He  came  mechanically  and  put  his  arm  around  her. 

"Grace,  dear  Grace,"  he  faltered,  hoarsely,  "can  you  not 
bear  this  sorrow  also  for  my  sake?" 

11  Alford!"  she  panted  with  horror  in  her  tones — "  Alford! 
why,  why,  her  hand  is  growing  cold!" 

There  was  a  long  low  sigh  from  the  little  one,  and  then 
she  was  still. 

"Take  your  wife  away,"  said  Dr.  Markham,  in  a  low, 
authoritative  tone. 

Graham  sought  to  obey  in  the  same  mechanical  manner. 


A    LITTLE   CHILD    SHALL    LEAD    THEM  373 

She  sprang  from  him  and  stood  aloof.  There  was  a  terrible 
light  in  her  eyes,  before  which  he  quailed. 

"Take  me  away!"  she  cried,  in  a  voice  that  was  hoarse, 
strained,  and  unnatural.  "Never!  Tell  me  the  belief  of 
your  heart.  Have  I  lost  my  child  forever  ?  Is  that  sweet 
image  of  my  Hilda  nothing  but  clay  ?  Is  there  nothing 
further  for  this  idol  of  my  heart  but  horrible  corruption  ? 
If  this  is  true,  no  more  learned  jargon  to  me  about  law  and 
force!  If  this  is  true,  I  am  the  creation  of  a  fiend  who, 
with  all  the  cruel  ingenuity  of  a  fiend,  has  so  made  me  that 
he  can  inflict  the  utmost  degree  of  torture.  If  this  is  true, 
my  motherhood  is  a  lie,  and  good  is  punished,  not  evil.  If 
this  is  true,  there  is  neither  God  nor  law,  but  only  a  devil. 
But  let  me  have  the  truth:  have  I  lost  that  child  forever?" 

He  was  dumb,  and  an  awful  silence  fell  upon  the  cham 
ber  of  death. 

Graham's  philosophy  failed  him  at  last.  His  own  father- 
heart  could  not  accept  of  corruption  as  the  final  end  of  his 
child.  Indeed,  it  revolted  at  it  with  a  resistless  rebound  as 
something  horrible,  monstrous,  and,  as  his  wife  had  said, 
devilish.  His  old  laborious  reasoning  was  scorched  away 
as  by  lightning  in  that  moment  of  intense  consciousness 
when  his  soul  told  him  that,  if  this  were  true,  his  nature 
also  was  a  lie  and  a  cheat.  He  knew  not  what  he  believed, 
or  what  was  true.  He  was  stunned  and  speechless. 

Despair  was  turning  his  wife's  face  into  stone,  when  old 
Aunt  Sheba,  who  had  been  crouching,  sobbing  and  praying 
at  the  foot  of  the  little  couch,  rose  with  streaming  eyes  and 
stretched  out  her  hands  toward  the  desperate  mother. 

"No,  Missy  Grace,"  she  cried,  in  tones  that  rang  through 
the  house;  "no,  no,  no.  Your  chile  am  not  lost  to  you; 
your  chile  am  not  dead.  She  on'y  sleeps.  Did  not  de  good 
Lord  say:  'Suffer  de  little  chillen  ter  come  unter  Me'  ?  An' 
Hilda,  de  dear  little  lamb,  hab  gone  ter  Him,  an'  is  in  de 
Good  Shepherd's  arms.  Your  little  chile  am  not  lost  to 
you,  she's  safe  at  home,  de  dear  bressed  home  ob  heben, 
whar  your  moder  is,  Missy  Grace.  De  Hebenly  Father  say, 


374  HIS    SOMBRE    RIVALS 

'Little  Hilda,  you  needn't  walk  de  long  flinty,  thorny  path 
and  suffer  like  you'se  dear  moder.  You  kin  come  home 
now,  and  I'se  '11  take  keer  ob  ye  till  moder  comes.'  Bress 
de  little  lamb,  she  smile  when  de  angels  come  fer  her,  an' 
she's  safe,  safe  for  ebermore.  No  tears  fer  little  Hilda,  no 
heartbreak  in  all  her  'ternal  life.  Dear  Missy  Grace,  my 
little  baby  die,  too,  but  I  hain't  los'  it.  No,  no.  De  Good 
Shepherd  is  a  keepin'  it  safe  fer  me,  an'  I  shall  hab  my 
baby  again." 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  effect  of  this  passionate 
utterance  of  faith  as  it  came  warm  and  direct  from  the  heart 
of  another  bereaved  mother,  whose  lowliness  only  empha 
sized  the  universal  human  need  of  something  more  than 
negations  and  theories  of  law  and  force.  The  major  heard 
it  in  the  hall  below,  and  was  awed.  Mrs.  Mayburn  and 
the  servants  sobbed  audibly.  The  stony  look  went  out  of 
Grace's  face;  tears  welled  up  into  her  hot,  dry  eyes,  and 
she  drew  near  and  bent  over  her  child  with  an  indescribable 
yearning  in  her  face.  Aunt  Sheba  ceased,  sank  down  on 
the  floor,  and  throwing  her  apron  over  her  face  she  rocked 
back  and  forth  and  prayed  as  before. 

Suddenly  Grace  threw  herself  on  the  unconscious  little 
form,  and  cried  with  a  voice  that  pierced  every  heart:  "O 
God,  I  turn  to  Thee,  then.  Is  my  child  lost  to  me  forever, 
or  is  she  in  Thy  keeping?  Was  my  mother's  faith  true? 
Shall  1  have  my  baby  once  more  ?  Jesus,  art  Thou  a  Shep 
herd  of  the  little  ones?  Hast  Thou  suffered  my  Hilda  to 
come  unto  Thee  ?  Oh,  if  Thou  art,  Thou  canst  reveal  Thy 
self  unto  me  and  save  a  broken-hearted  mother  from  despair. 
This  child  was  mine.  Is  it  mine  still  ?"  and  she  clasped  her 
baby  convulsively  to  her  bosom. 

"  'Suffer  de  little  chillen  ter  come  unter  me,  and  forbid 
dem  not,'  "  repeated  Aunt  Sheba  in  low  tones. 

Again  a  deep,  awed  silence  fell  upon  them  all.  Grace 
knelt  so  long  with  her  own  face  pressed  against  her  child's 
that  they  thought  she  had  fainted.  The  physician  motioned 
Graham  to  lift  her  up,  but  he  shook  his  head.  He  was 


A    LITTLE   CHILD   SHALL   LEAD    THEM  375 

crushed  and  despairing,  feeling  that  in  one  little  hour  he 
had  lost  the  belief  of  his  manhood,  the  child  that  had 
brought  into  his  home  a  heaven  that  he  at  least  could 
understand,  and  as  he  heard  his  wife's  bitter  cry  he  felt 
that  her  life  and  reason  might  soon  go  also.  He  recognized 
again  the  presence  of  his  bitter  rivals,  Grief  and  Death,  and 
felt  that  at  last  they  had  vanquished  him.  He  had  not  the 
courage  or  the  will  to  make  another  effort. 

"Mrs.  Graham,  for  your  husband's  sake — "  began  Dr. 
Markham. 

"Ah!  forgive  me,  Alford,"  she  said,  rising  weakly; 
"I  should  not  have  forgotten  you  for  a  moment." 

She  took  an  uncertain  step  toward  him,  and  he  caught 
her  in  his  arms. 

Laying  her  head  upon  his  breast,  she  said  gently, 
"Alford,  our  baby  is  not  dead." 

"Oh,  Grace,  darling!"  he  cried  in  agony,  "don't  give 
way,  or  we  are  both  lost.  I  have  no  strength  left.  I  can 
not  save  you  again.  Oh!  if  the  awful  past  should  come 
back!" 

"It  now  can  never  come  back.  Alford,  we  have  not  lost 
our  child.  Aunt  Sheba  has  had  a  better  wisdom  than  you 
or  I,  and  from  this  hour  forth  my  mother's  faith  is  mine. 
Do  not  think  me  wild  or  wandering.  In  my  very  soul  has 
come  the  answer  to  my  cry.  Horrible  corruption  is  not  the 
end  of  that  lovely  life.  You  can't  believe  it,  any  more  than 
I.  Dear  little  sleeper,  you  are  still  my  baby.  I  shall  go  to 
you,  and  you  will  never  suffer  as  I  have  suffered.  God 
bless  you,  Aunt  Sheba!  your  heaven-inspired  words  have 
saved  me  from  despair.  Alford,  dear  Alford,  do  not  give 
way  so;  I'll  live  and  be  your  true  and  faithful  wife.  I'll 
teach  you  the  faith  that  God  has  taught  me." 

He  drew  long,  deep  breaths.  He  was  like  a  great  ship 
trying  to  right  itself  in  a  storm.  At  last  he  said,  in  broken 
tones : 

"Grace,  you  are  right.  It's  not  law  or  force.  It's  either 
God,  who  in  some  way  that  I  can't  understand,  will  bring 


376  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

good  out  of  all  this  evil,  or  else  it's  all  devilish,  fiendish. 
If  after  this  night  you  can  be  resigned,  patient,  hopeful, 
your  faith  shall  be  mine." 

The  shadows,  affrighted,  shrank  further  away  than  ever 
before. 

"I  take  you  at  your  word,"  she  replied,  as  she  drew  him 
gently  away.  "Come,  let  us  go  and  comfort  papa." 

One  after  another  stole  out  after  them  until  Mrs.  May- 
burn  was  alone  with  the  dead.  Long  and  motionless  she 
stood,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  quiet,  lovely  face. 

"Hilda,"  at  last  she  moaned,  "little  Hilda,  shall  poor 
old  grandma  ever  see  our  baby  again?" 

At  that  moment  the  sun  rose  high  enough  to  send  a  ray 
through  the  lattice,  and  it  lighted  the  baby's  face  with  what 
seemed  a  smile  of  unearthly  sweetness. 

A  few  moments  later  Aunt  Sheba  found  the  aged  woman 
with  her  head  upon  little  Hilda's  bosom,  and  there  she 
received  a  faith  that  brought  peace. 

A  few  evenings  later  there  was  a  grassy  mound,  covered 
with  roses,  under  the  apple-tree  by  the  rustic  seat;  and  at 
the  head  of  the  little  grave  there  was  placed  a  block  of  mar 
ble  bearing  the  simple  inscription : 

"Here  sleeps  our  Baby  Hilda." 

Years  have  passed.  The  little  monument  is  now  near 
another  and  a  stately  one  in  a  Virginia  cemetery.  Fresh 
flowers  are  on  it,  showing  that  "Our  Baby  Hilda"  is  never 
forgotten.  Fresh  flowers  are  beneath  the  stately  column, 
proving  that  the  gallant  soldier  sleeping  under  it  is  never 
forgotten.  Fresh  flowers  are  on  the  young  Confederate's 
grave,  commemorating  a  manly  and  heroic  devotion  to  a 
cause  that  was  sacred  to  him.  The  cause  was  lost;  and  had 
he  lived  to  green  old  age  he  would  have  thanked  God  for 
it.  Not  least  among  the  reasons  for  thankfulness  is  the 
truth  that  to  men  and  peoples  that  which  their  hearts 
craved  is  often  denied. 

Not  far  away  is  a  home  as  unostentatious  as  the  Northern 


A    LITTLE   CHILD   SHALL    LEAD    THEM  377 

cottage,  but  larger,  and  endowed  with  every  homelike  at 
tribute.  Sweet  Grace  Graham  is  its  mistress.  Her  lovely 
features  are  somewhat  marked  by  time  and  her  deep  experi 
ences,  but  they  have  gained  a  beauty  and  serenity  that  will 
defy  time.  Sounds  of  joyous  young  life  again  fill  the  house, 
and  in  a  cradle  by  her  side  "little  Grace"  is  sleeping. 
Grandma  Mayburn  still  knits  slowly  by  the  hearth,  but 
when  the  days  are  dry  and  warm  it  is  her  custom  to  steal 
away  to  the  cemetery  and  remain  for  hours  with  "Our 
Baby."  The  major  has  grown  very  feeble,  but  his  irrita 
ble  protest  against  age  and  infirmity  has  given  place  to  a 
serene,  quiet  waiting  till  he  can  rest  beside  the  brave  sol 
diers  who  have  forgotten  their  laurels. 

Colonel  Anderson,  now  a  prosperous  planter,  has  his 
own  happy  home  life,  and  his  aged  father  shares  the  best 
there  is  in  it.  He  still  preaches  in  the  quaint  old  church, 
repaired  but  not  modernized,  and  his  appearance  and  life 
give  eloquence  to  his  faltering  words.  The  event  of  the 
quiet  year  is  the  annual  visit  of  Kita  and  Captain  Windom 
with  their  little  brood.  Then  truly  the  homes  abound  in 
breezy  life;  but  sturdy,  blue-eyed  Warren  Graham  is  the 
natural  leader  of  all  the  little  people's  sport.  The  gallant 
black  horse  Mayburn  is  still  Iss's  pride,  but  he  lets  no  one 
mount  him  except  his  master.  Aunt  Sheba  presides  at  the 
preparation  of  state  dinners,  and  sits  by  the  cradle  of  baby 
Grace.  She  is  left,  however,  most  of  the  time,  to  her  own 
devices,  and  often  finds  her  way  also  to  the  cemetery  to 
"wisit  dat  dear  little  lamb,  Hilda,"  murmuring  as  she 
creeps  slowly  with  her  cane,  "We'se  all  a-followin'  her 
now,  bress  de  Lord." 

Jinny's  stories  of  what  she  saw  and  of  her  experiences 
abroad  have  become  so  marvellous  that  they  might  be  true 
of  some  other  planet,  but  not  of  ours.  Dusky  faces  gather 
round  her  by  the  kitchen  fire,  and  absolute  faith  is  expressed 
by  their  awed  looks.  Old  Jehu  has  all  the  chickens  and 
"sass"  he  wants  without  working  for  them,  and  his  son 
Huey  has  settled  down  into  a  steady  "hand,"  who  satisfies 


378  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS 

his  former  ruling  passion  with  an  occasional  coon-hunt. 
Both  of  the  colonels  have  the  tastes  of  sportsmen,  and  do 
all  in  their  power  to  preserve  the  game  in  their  vicinity. 
They  have  become  closer  friends  with  the  lapsing  years, 
and  from  crossing  swords  they  look  forward  to  the  time 
when  they  can  cross  their  family  escutcheons  by  the  mar 
riage  of  the  sturdy  Warren  with  another  little  Rita,  who 
now  romps  with  him  in  a  child's  happy  unconsciousness. 

There  are  flecks  of  gray  in  Graham's  hair  and  beard,  and 
deep  lines  on  his  resolute  face,  but  he  maintains  his  erect, 
soldierly  bearing  even  when  superintending  the  homely  de 
tails  of  the  plantation.  Every  one  respects  him;  the  ma 
jority  are  a  little  afraid  of  him,  for  where  his  will  has  sway 
there  is  law  and  order,  but  to  the  poor  and  sorrowful  he 
gives  increasing  reason  to  bless  his  name.  His  wife's  faith 
has  become  his.  She  has  proved  it  true  by  the  sweet  logic 
of  her  life.  In  their  belief,  the  baby  Hilda  is  only  at  home 
before  them,  and  the  soldier  without  fear  and  without  re 
proach  has  found  the  immortality  that  he  longed  for  in  his 
dying  moments.  He  is  no  longer  a  cherished,  honored  mem 
ory  only ;  he  is  the  man  they  loved,  grown  more  manly,  more 
noble  in  the  perfect  conditions  of  a  higher  plane  of  life.  The 
dark  mysteries  of  evil  are  still  dark  to  them — problems  that 
cannot  be  solved  by  human  reason.  But  in  the  Divine  Man, 
toward  whose  compassionate  face  the  sorrowful  and  sinful  of 
all  the  centuries  have  turned,  they  have  found  One  who  has 
mastered  the  evil  that  threatened  their  lives.  They  are  con 
tent  to  leave  the  mystery  of  evil  to  Him  who  has  become 
in  their  deepest  consciousness  Friend  and  Guide.  He  stands 
between  them  and  the  shadows  of  the  past  and  the  future. 


THE   END 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  LOS  ANGELES 

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